MORE ACROSS THE RIVER

Last June we took you across the river and exposed you to some good Norwich wit and humor. So many seemed to enjoy this brief sojourn - and said so - that we are tempted in the spirit of the approaching holiday season to give you an early Christmas bonus in the form of a trip a little further afield in Vermont.

We might well focus attention again on the uncanny capacity of Vermonters to come through with the quick and apt retort. Many a summer visitor is considerably surprised when he makes a remark to a Vermonter, or asks a question, to find the ball right back in his own hands - and all before he can say Jack Robinson. You may think of Vermonters as serious, sober, stiff-necked, uncommunicative folk, hard-working, sourpussed and penurious - and so they are in considerable measure - but if you think of them as slow-witted and dull you couldn't be more wrong. They don't dress up very much, and sometimes they may smell a little of the barn, but they are quick on the trigger, these Vermonters, and in wit and repartee can hold their own without half trying. Let me suggest a few examples to supplement some of the Norwich stories.

One of the briefest I know, and a very old one, involves the old Vermonter, sitting on his porch in the cool of the evening, who was asked by a summer visitor, "Have you lived here all your life?" Quick as a flash his retort, "Not yet." Another very brief one concerns the Vermonter who was hard-of-hearing and was sitting next to a friend at a political rally. Not hearing the speaker very well he inquired of his friend, "What's he atalking 'bout?" Replied his friend, "He don't say." Still another old one is Calvin Coolidge's reply to Mrs. Coolidge who inquired what the Sunday sermon was about. "Sin," was Mr. Coolidge's laconic reply. "What did he have to say about it?" prodded Mrs. Coolidge. "He was against it," replied Mr. Coolidge and that was that.

Another story recalls the day when there were fox farms in Vermont where these animals were raised for their pelts. A city lady very much admired the foxes such lovely creatures, charming, perfectly beautiful," etc. - and then she asked the Vermonter, "How many pelts do you get annually from each fox?" "Well, I'll tellou," replied the old fellow, "usually not more than two. If you skin them more than twice a year it makes them damned nervous."

As you would expect the quest for directions in Vermont produces many sharp and sometimes amusing results, sometimes very brief and often none too helpful. One of the briefest and least helpful which I know is the answer to the query how to get to Wheelock. "Well," said the old Vermonter, "If I was agoing to Wheelock I don't think I'd start from here." Even more irritating was the old farmer whose elaborate directions as to how to get to Barnard were carefully followed by the city driver who some half-hour later found himself right back in the same barn yard. Making sharp complaint to the farmer that he had followed his directions with care and now found himself right back where he started from he received this quiet reply, "That's good. That's good. I wanted to find out first if you was capable of following directions. Now I can tell you how to get to Barnard."

I have always liked the story of the Vermont judge who had spent a long time getting a jury panel set up. Toward the end of the day the sheriff came in with a farmer from back in the hills and informed the judge that this fellow didn't think he could serve. Somewhat irritated, and speaking with some asperity, the judge inquired, "O.K., mister, why can't you serve on the jury?" The farmer was embarrassed and standing first on one foot and then on the other, made reply, "Well, your Honor, my wife is about to become pregnant." The sheriff intervened with the comment, "Your Honor, I think the fellow means his wife is about to be confined." Whereupon the District Attorney, tipped back in his chair in the corner, offered the shrewd comment, "Well, Judge, whichever way it is, I kinda think he ought to be there."

You may have heard of the Vermont farmer who cashed his milk check at the bank. He counted the cash very methodically and then started to count it over again. "What's the trouble," queried the cashier, "isn't it all there?" "Yep" replied the farmer, "just barely."

Vermont taciturnity is but economy in words and Vermont thrift illustrates the same care with things material. They hang together naturally as they do indeed in the old Vermont jingle, "Eat it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without."

One final bit of Vermontiana must suffice. A school boy at East Corinth reported that at their Friday afternoon assemblies — or speakin's, as he called them - the students recite things they have learned and sometimes things they have written themselves. When pressed for an example of the latter he quoted this one, "As I was sitting in a shady nook, along beside a babbling brook, I saw a lovely little lass standing in the water up to her knees." Reminded that good as it was it didn't seem to rhyme he retorted, "Yeh. That's what the teacher said but I told her you had to remember it had been a hell of a dry fall."