“You goin’?” he rasped at me, shaking his stick at the corner. “John, John,” the old lady clucked, “it don’t do for you to go gettin’ excited.” “I ain’t excited,” the old man twittered, pounding his stick on the road, “I ain’t excited; I’m jest plumb disgusted.” I’d stopped because he’d caught hold of my shirtsleeve. “You’re goin’, ain’t you?” he threatened me again. “It looks like it, dad,” I said.””
The Ox-Bow Incident