LYIN'- A-LITTLE


| November/December 1968



436 N. Library,Waterloo, Illinois 62298

I, E.R. Dugan, was born and reared in an Irish settlement called Tipton just south of St. Louis, not far from little Egypt. My father was a thresherman for many years, and I was only seven years old when this story too, place.

My Grandma Dugan was going to thresh in the next few days. I was at her house this afternoon, and she said to me, 'Lad, it's getting late. Now run along. You have to get the cows in. I will pick you up in the mornin' with the horse and buggy, and we will go to town to get some grub for the threshers.'

Mornin came, and so did Grandma with her horse and buggy. She said, 'Jump in, me lad,' and off we went up the road. 1 reached into her basket to see what she had on her grub list, as she called it. What do you know! I said, 'Grandma, two gallons of Whiskey the first thing on the list!' 'Oh,' Grandma explained, 'you know, me boy, the water is so very bad around here and full of wiggle tails that you got to have a little whiskey, so's the men don't get sick.' I said, 'Grandma, the next thing on the list is twist tobacco.' 'Yes,' me boy, she replied, 'I doubt if we get to town before me pipe burns out, but you take a good look, all the rest of the list is grub.'

So, we trotted up the raod. All at once Grandma said, 'Whoa,' to the old horse and what do you know, he stood dead in his tracks. 1 asked, 'Grandma, what's the matter?' She looked over her smoky glasses and replied, 'Here comes that bugger of a Flanagan up the road the biggest liar in the country. I am very much afraid if St. Peter don't keep an eye on him, he will slip in the gates, and that sure would be a shame.' We drove on up the road until we met Flanagan. 'Whoa,' siad Grandma, 'Top of the morning to you, Flanagan. Stop and tell me and the lad a good lie before we go to town.' (This took place every time we met Flanagan.) 'no lies this morning,' said Flanagan, 'I am in a divil of a hurry. You know our neighbor, Gilligan, down the road turned up his heels last night.' At that he cracked his lines. The mules tore out up the road as he yelled, 'I am going to town to make funeral arrangements.' Grandma would have almost bet her horse and buggy that Flanagan was tellin the truth; he looked so sober and worried. She sat dumfounded for a few minutes until she got hold of herself and then said, 'Boy, we better go down and pay our respects to poor Mrs. Gilligan before we go to town.'

As we drove into Mrs. Gillian's yard, out she came. 'Top O the mornin to you, Mrs. Dugan. What in the world brings you two here this time of the mornin?' Grandma, shedding a few tears, said, 'Mrs. Gilligan, I am so sorry to hear Mr. Gilligan kicked up his heels last night.' Mrs. Gilligan exclaimed, 'Who in the world tells you a thing like this? He did not kick up his heels? he's out in the barn getting the mules ready to go threshing.' Grandma explained, 'Mrs. Gilligan, we just met that divil of a Flanagan right up there on the road and he told us. What a lyin bugger he is! Oh, Mrs. Gilligan, I am all shook up over such a Shu-do.'