But skepticism aroused Blaze's indignation. With elaborate sarcasm
he retorted: "I reckon that's why my best team of mules run away
and dragged me through a ten-acre patch of grass burrs--on my
belly, eh? It's a wonder I wasn't killed. I reckon I smoked so
much that I give a tobacco heart to the best three-year-old bull
in my pasture! Well, I smoked him to death, all right. Probably it
was nicotine poisonin' that killed twenty acres of my cotton, too;
and maybe if I'd cut out Bull Durham I'd have floated that bond
issue on the irrigation ditch. But I was wedded to cigarettes, so
my banks are closin' down on me. Sure! That's what a man gets for
smokin'."
"And do you attribute all these misfortunes to Paloma's
dressmaker?"
The man nodded gloomily. "That ain't half! Everything goes wrong.
I'm scared to pack a weapon for fear I'll injure myself. Why, I've
carried a bowie-knife in my bootleg ever since I was a babe in
arms, you might say; but the other day I jabbed myself with it and
nearly got blood-poisonin'. The very first time I ever laid eyes
on this man and his wife a great misfortune overtook me, and ever
since they come to Jonesville I've had a close squeeze to make a
live of it.
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