How we cite our quotes: (Chapter, Paragraph)
Quote #7
"Accommodate? Pray, no doubt you could accommodate me with a bosom-friend too, couldn't you? Accommodate! Obliging word accommodate: there's accommodation notes now, where one accommodates another with a loan, and if he don't pay it pretty quickly, accommodates him, with a chain to his foot. Accommodate! God forbid that I should ever be accommodated." (22, 22)
Pitch balks at the notion that the PIO man wants to help him out. Here's the thing, though: PIO guy is offering help in getting Pitch a servant, but it's Pitch who brings up the notion of friendship when he says, Yeah, I bet you could even get me a bestie. What's up with that? Sure, Pitch is saying he needs a BFF like he needs a hefty loan that'll get him into debtor's prison (he doesn't), but why bother even bringing up friends at all? Pitch, is this a cry for company?
Quote #8
"No, no. Look you, as I told that cousin-german of yours, the herb-doctor, I'm now on the road to get me made some sort of machine to do my work. Machines for me. My cider-mill—does that ever steal my cider? My mowing-machine—does that ever lay a-bed mornings? My corn-husker—does that ever give me insolence? No: cider-mill, mowing-machine, corn-husker—all faithfully attend to their business. Disinterested, too; no board, no wages; yet doing good all their lives long; shining examples that virtue is its own reward—the only practical Christians I know." (22, 22)
The PIO man wants to send Pitch a boy to help with his farm. Nothing doing—Pitch wants machines. Machines he can trust. Machines don't lie and steal from you. Machines are more Christian than people. Oof, that's some tough (lack of) love.
Quote #9
"The judge, with his usual judgment, always thought that the intense solitude to which the Indian-hater consigns himself, has, by its overawing influence, no little to do with relaxing his vow. He would relate instances where, after some months' lonely scoutings, the Indian-hater is suddenly seized with a sort of calenture; hurries openly towards the first smoke, though he knows it is an Indian's, announces himself as a lost hunter, gives the savage his rifle, throws himself upon his charity, embraces him with much affection, imploring the privilege of living a while in his sweet companionship." (26, 20)
While we don't have any sympathy for peeps of this kind, apparently even those who've decided to make mortal enemies out of American Indians and devote their lives to solitude get lonely. They get so lonesome for human contact, in fact, that they're willing to put down their weapons and ask for some chitchat. Precious.