Out of Context

The Virginian
A Horseman of the Plains
Owen Wister

Once again he looked out at the departing missionary. “Well,” he vindictively stated, “I cert’nly ain’t goin’ to run afteh him.” And he looked at me again.

“Do you suppose the Judge knows?” I inquired.

He shook his head. “The windo’ shades is all down still oveh yondeh.” He paused. “I don’t care,” he stated, quite as if he had been ten years old. Then he grinned guiltily. “I was mighty respectful to him all night.”

“Oh, yes, respectful! Especially when you invited him to turn his wolf loose.”

The Virginian gave a joyous gulp. He now came and sat down on the edge of my bed. “I spoke awful good English to him most of the time,” said he. “I can, yu’ know, when I cinch my attention tight on to it. Yes, I cert’nly spoke a lot o’ good English. I didn’t understand some of it myself!”

He was now growing frankly pleased with his exploit. He had builded so much better than he knew. He got up and looked out across the crystal world of light. “The Doctor is at one-mile crossing,” he said. “He’ll get breakfast at the N-lazy-Y.” Then he returned and sat again on my bed, and began to give me his real heart. “I never set up for being better than others. Not even to myself. My thoughts ain’t apt to travel around making comparisons. And I shouldn’t wonder if my memory took as much notice of the meannesses I have done as of–as of the other actions.”