"Well, my fader he’s go on old Marceau’s hotel, an’ he’s drink all day. Frawce Seguin he’s go cross de road on Joe Maufraud’s hotel, an’ _he’s_ drink all day. When de night come, dey’s bose stand out in front of de two hotel for fight.
"Dey’s bose yell an’ yell for make de oder feller scare bad before dey begin. Hermidas Laronde an’ Jawnny Leroi dey’s hold my fader for fear he’s go ’cross de road for keel Frawce Seguin dead. Pierre Seguin an’ Magloire Sauve is hold Frawce for fear he’s come ’cross de road for keel my fader dead. And dose men fight dat way ’cross de road, till dey hain’t hardly able for stand up no more.
"My fader he’s tear his shirt and he’s yell, ’Let me at him!’ Frawce he’s tear his shirt and he’s yell, ’Let me at him!’ But de men hain’t goin’ for let dem loose, for fear one is strike de oder ver’ hard. De whole village is shiver ’bout dat offle fight—yes, seh, shiver bad!
"Well, dey’s fight like dat for more as four hours, till dey hain’t able for yell no more, an’ dey hain’t got no money left for buy wheeskey for de crowd. Den Marceau and Joe Maufraud tol’ dem bose it was a shame for two cousins to fight so bad. An’ my fader he’s say he’s ver’ sorry dat he lick Frawce so hard, and dey’s bose sorry. So dey’s kiss one anoder good—only all their close is tore to pieces.
[Illustration: DEY’S FIGHT LIKE DAT FOR MORE AS FOUR HOURS]
"An’ what you tink ’bout Old Man Savarin? Old Man Savarin is just stand in front of his store all de time, an’ he’s say: ’I’ll tink I’ll fetch ’him _bose_ hup to de magistrate, an’ I’ll learn him _bose_ a lesson.’
"Me, I’ll be only fifteen, but I hain’t scare ’bout dat fight same like my moder is scare. No more is Alphonsine Seguin scare. She’s seventeen, an’ she wait for de fight to be all over. Den she take her fader home, same like I’ll take my fader home for bed. Dat’s after twelve o’clock of night.
"Nex’ mawny early my fader he’s groaned and he’s groaned: ’Ah—ugh—I’m sick, sick, me. I’ll be goin’ for die dis time, for sure.’
"’You get up an’ scoop some fish,’ my moder she’s say, angry. ’Den you hain’t be sick no more.’
"’Ach—ugh—I’ll hain’t be able. Oh, I’ll be so sick. An’ I hain’ got no place for scoop fish now no more. Frawce Seguin has rob my platform.’