The Complete Uncle Silas Stories by H.E. Bates Page A

the time, at my grandmother’s, we were waiting for him, eating first dinner and then tea without him.
    â€˜D’ye reckon Silas ain’t coming this year?’
    â€˜I’ll Silas him if he does!’
    â€˜Silas is allus like that there ham. He gets hung up.’
    â€˜Yes,’ my grandmother would say, ‘and that’s what I’d
do
with him if I had my way.’
    But finally, towards dusk, my Uncle Silas would arrive, lit up, his hat on the back of his head, his face as red as a laying hen’s, his neck-tie undone, a pink aster as big as a saucer in his buttonhole, his voice bawling like a bull’s to the horse:
    â€˜Whoa! Damn you, stan’ still. Whoa! George, hold this damn nag still a minute. I wanna git out. Whoa! Stop him.’
    â€˜He’s bin a’standin’ still about five minutes, Silas.’
    â€˜Stop him! Whoa. He keeps movin’ on and twitterin’ about. Stop him! Every ’nation time I try to git out o’ this trap he moves on.’
    â€˜The nag’s as still as a mouse, Silas. You catch hold o’ me. You’ll be all right. That’s it. You catch hold o’ me. That’s it.’
    And somehow my Uncle Silas would alight, waddling across the farmyard on his half-bandy legs like a man on a ship, in gentle staggers of uncertainty, bawling at the top of his devilish voice:
    â€˜And now we’re here, we
are
here! Whoops! Steady, lost the leg o’ me drawers.’
    And then in the house: ‘Where are y’, Tillie, me old duck!Come on, give us a kiss, that’s it, give us a kiss. What! Th’ old nag lost a shoe. I’ve bin hung up ever s’long. The old nag lost a——’
    â€˜And very lucky you didn’t lose yourself, too, I should think!’
    â€˜Ah, come on, Tillie, give us a kiss. Silas come all this way and you ain’t goin’ give him a mite of a kiss?’
    â€˜I’d be ashamed of myself!’
    â€˜I am.’
    â€˜Then just sit down quietly somewhere and don’t plague folks and don’t act the jabey. George, you get the ham cut and see that there’s a knife and fork for everybody and enough bread.’
    â€˜After you do that, George, me old beauty, go an’ look in the back o’ the trap ——’
    â€˜I recollect I left a few empty bottles under——’
    â€˜He’ll do no such thing, Silas!’
    â€˜God A’mighty, Tillie. God A’mighty, Tillie, they’re
empty
.’
    â€˜Trust you!’
    â€˜Tah! Let ’em
all
come!’
    And finally we would sit down to supper, the big dining-table and the many little tables crowded with relatives, my grandfather carving the ham and beef, my Uncle Silas staggering round the table and then from one table to another with bottles of cowslip wine, totting it half over the table-cloth, giving an extra stagger of devilry against the ladies, and taking no notice even of my grandmother’s tartest reprimands and bawling at the top of his voice:
    â€˜Let ’em
all
come!’
    â€˜I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you shall not come here, Silas, if you can’t behave yourself!’
    â€˜Let ’em
all
come!’
    And bawling constantly, spilling the wine on the floor as he walked, he would get back to his chair at last, only to stagger upagain in less than a minute to fill another glass or kiss the lady next to him and show his gall-stone or, worst of all, tell us a story.
    â€˜George, me old beauty, d’ye recollect the time as we cut the buttons off old dad Hustwaite’s trousers? Remember that, George, me old beauty? Cut ’em off while he sat there in The Dragon and then——’
    â€˜By golly, Silas, you do——’
    â€˜Cut some more ham, George, quick. There’s two plates empty.’
    â€˜George cut the buttons off while I played him dominoes——’
    â€˜Some