JIM PERKINS (COUSIN OF ELI)

I jist wanted to say that I wasent mad with Jim Allcorn, as sum peepul
supposed; but it do illustrate the onsertainty of human kalkulashuns in
this subloonery world. The disappintments of life are amazin', and if a
man wants to fret and grumble at his luck he can find a reesunable
oppertunity to do so every day that he lives. Them sort of
constitutional grumblers ain't much cumpany to me. I'd rather be Jim
Perkins with a bullit hole through me and take my chances. Jim, you
know, was shot down at Gains' Mill, and the ball went in at the
umbilikus, as Dr. Battey called it, and cum out at the backbone. The
Doktor sounded him, and sez he, "Jeems, my friend, your wound is
mortal." Jim looked at the Doktor, and then at me, and sez he, "That's
bad, ain't it?" "Mighty bad," sez I, and I was as sorry for him as I
ever was for anybody in my life. Sez he, "Bill, I'd make a will if it
warn't for one thing." "What's that, Jim?" sez I. He sorter smiled and
sez, "I hain't got nothin' to will." He then raised up on his elbow, and
sez he, "Doktor, is there one chance in a hundred for me?" and the
Doktor sez, "Jest about, Jim." "Well, then," sez he, "I'll git well--I
feel it in my gizzard." He looked down at the big hole in his umbilikus,
and sez he, "If I do get well, won't it be a great _naval_ viktry,
Doktor Battey?" Well, shore enuff he did git well, and in two months he
was fitin' the Yanks away up in Maryland.

But I didn't start to tell you about that.


IKE MACKOY