him duh my juntlemun, binnuh wu’k to de maa’l, duh dig rock, down to
John Ilun’. Monday mawnin’, him git up soon, ’e gone deepo, ’e ketch
de shoofly strain, en’ ’e gone! Uh nebbuh shum ’gen ’tell Sattyday
night. Wuh me fuh do? Seddown een me house ’tell him come home en’
watch ’tettuh duh bile? No, suh! Uh lub fuh talk tummuch! Soon ez uh
yeddy de strain blow, en’ uh sattify’ my juntlemun gone, uh tek me two
foot en’ uh gone Paa’ker’ Ferry Cross Road’ weh da’ buckruh hab ’e big
sto’. All dem boy’ wuh ent hab nutt’n’ fuh do, dey dey duh talk, en’
’nuf ’ooman’ dey dey duh hol’ cumpuhshashun ’long de man en’ t’ing.
W’en daa’k come, uh gone home. Uh cook, uh eat, uh leddown duh bed,
uh sleep. Chuesday mawnin’, uh gone same fashi’n, en’ eb’ry Gawd’
day ’tell bimeby Sattyday come ’gen. Uh clean de house, uh wash, uh
sweep de yaa’d, en’ uh gone Cross Road’. Uh pass de time uh day ’long
dem todduh nigguh’ ’tell uh yeddy de strain f’um town blow deepo, den
uh gone home fuh wait ’tell Paul come. Befo’ uh lef’ de sto’, Sancho
Frajuh binnuh drink rum en’ ’e t’row’way ’e money berry freehan’, en’
’e buy ’bout two quawt’ uh candy, dese’yuh ’ticky kind’uh t’ing, dem
hab ’ooman name, de buckruh call’um Carrie Mel, but eb’n so, ’e mek
out’uh pinegum en’ muhlassis, en’ ef oonuh chaw’um ’e gwine hol’ yo’
jaw ’tell t’unduh roll. De buckruh hab’um een ’e sto’ sence las’ yeah
en de t’ing haa’d ez uh i’un. Sancho gi’ eb’ry ’ooman two han’ful’.
Uh wrop one de han’ful’ een uh papuh en’ drap’um een me ap’un pocket.
Uh t’row de todduh han’ful een me mout’ en’ biggin fuh chaw. Uh chaw,
en’ uh chaw, uh chaw, en’ uh chaw. De t’ing sweet’n’ me fuh true, but
’e ketch me jaw’ en’ ’e hol’um same lukkuh pinegum plastuh! De mo’ uh
chaw’um de mo’ ’e swell. Time uh git tuh me house, de t’ing wrop roun’
eb’ry teet’ een me head lukkuh jackwine wrop roun’ tree. Alltwo me jaw’
stan’ same fashi’n ez mufflejaw fowl, en’ me mout’ swell’up same lukkuh
Buh Quash’ mout’ stick out w’en ’e bex! W’en uh git tuh de do’, Paul
dey dey duh wait fuh me! ’Fo’ him kin ax me no squeschun, uh smaa’t
’nuf fuh t’row me ap’un tuh me mout’ fuh hide’um, en’ uh kibbuhr’um up
en’ biggin fuh moan. Uh moan, en’ uh moan. Paul ax me wuffuh uh mek
shishuh hebby cumplain. Uh ’ca’cely kin able fuh talk, but uh tell’um
uh binnuh walk roun’ de fench en’ uh walk ’puntop yalluh jacket nes’
en’ de t’ing ’ting me tuh dat. ’E ax me w’ich one de jaw ’e ’ting
me ’pun. Uh p’int tuh me lef han’ jaw. ’E ax me ’smattuh mek alltwo
de jaw’ swell. Uh tell’um gumbile mek todduh one fuh swell. Den uh
biggin fuh cry. Watuh stan’ een me two eye’. Uh baig’um fuh gone deepo
en’ baig some dem buckruh’ fuh g’em some linniment fuh de mis’ry een
alltwo me jaw’. Paul say suh him kin gone Cross Road’ en’ buy’um, but
uh ’f’aid ef him gone Cross Road’, Sancho dem gwine tell’um suh me bin
dey, en’ uh tell’um no, uh yent want’um fuh t’row’way him money ’cause
uh lub’um tummuch, en’ uh mo’ redduh him fuh baig de buckruh’, den fuh
buy’um out him own money. Dat mek’um sattify, en’ ’e gone deepo. Soon
ez ’e gone, uh try fuh git da’ debble’ub’uh ’ceitful Carrie Mel out me
mout’. De t’ing ’tick same lukkuh Buh Rabbit ’tick tuh Taar Baby. ’E
won’ tu’n me loose! Den me bline’gawd tell me fuh greese’um. Uh gone
duh house, uh mek fiah, uh pit one fat bakin een de pan, en’ w’en de
meat done fry, uh tek’um een me mout’ en’ biggin fuh chaw. Bimeby de
greese biggin fuh loose de Carrie Mel, en’ uh tek alltwo me han’ en’ uh
pull’um out me mout’, en’ uh t’row’um ’way, en’ uh t’row’um _fudduh_!
“W’en Paul come back wid de buckruh linniment, uh duh hol’ me two jaw’
en’ uh dull moan. Him gimme de t’ing, uh rub’um, en’ attuhw’ile, w’en
him done cook de bittle wuh ’e fetch f’um John Ilun’, uh call’um fuh
look ’puntop me two jaw’ weh de swell’ done gone, en’ ’e dat sattify,
’e gimme de money wuh him bin fuh buy linniment duh Cross Road, en’ ’e
nebbuh yeddy ’bout no Sancho!”
“Yaas, tittie, ’ooman fool’um fuh true! Him _done_ fuh fool’um!”
A RICEFIELD IDYLL
A brilliant tropical day in late August. A strong breeze from the
river moved the glistening leaves and swayed the long pennons of
gray Spanish moss that swung from every bough and twig of the great
live-oaks, whose spreading arms stretched their protecting shade over
the plateau upon which stood the Big House, crowning the highest point
of Prospect Hill. A mile away swept the flowing tide of the broad
and beautiful Edisto, whose shimmering waters, opposed by the summer
wind, danced and sparkled in the sunlight. Upon the lower levels
between the uplands and the river lay the great fields of early rice,
now ready for the sickle. Intersecting the fields or “squares” at
regular intervals, and contrasting with their green and gold opulence,
shining silver-blue canals ran from river to headland. Far across the
river on “the Island,” the eye rested upon an emerald expanse of June
rice which would come to harvest six weeks later. From the ripening
fields the “harvest flow” had been taken off, the squares dried, and
on this Monday morning 100 hands had gathered by sunrise, for, by the
mysterious grapevine telegraph through which negroes on one plantation
hear almost instantaneously what is going forward on other plantations
miles away, the news had gone about that rice-cutting was to commence
at Prospect Hill, and the gregarious negroes, deserting the smaller
settlements, flocked hither to the big plantation where, working in
gangs, they could exchange quip and jest and gather the gossip of the
countryside. Some of the best rice-cutters were the sturdy young
women, who, with skirts tied up above their knees and wearing men’s
wool hats to mitigate the heat of the sun, kept pace with the best of
their masculine associates. Cutting and tying by piece work, an active
hand could readily complete his task, the allotment for a day’s work,
an hour before noon, and some of those who had walked six or seven
miles in the morning would knock off as soon as the task was finished
and loaf around the quarters until sundown, while others, pushing their
luck, held on until the evening, putting two days’ work into one. Armed
with the saw-edged, sickle-like “rice hooks,” the cutters stretched
across the squares, each seizing with her left hand as large a bundle
of the heavy-headed stalks as she could conveniently grasp, which, with
one stroke of her right arm, she quickly severed a few inches above the
ground, laid the bundle on the stubble ready for those who tied into
sheaves behind her, and, with a sweep of her left, gathered another
handful for the embrace of the crescent-shaped blade. Down the steaming
field moved a skirmish line of lusty black wenches, bare-armed,
bare-footed and bare-legged, their skirts drawn above their knees by
a cord about the waist, which took up the slack. Here and there among
them worked men, and these, often physically inferior to the females
of the species, were subjected to constant raillery and frequent
challenges to equal the self-appointed tasks of the women.
Venus Chisolm and Diana Smashum, two strapping Amazons, were the most
expert of the women rice-cutters, and excelled most of the men in
efficiency. Scipio Jenkins, a smart young buck, was the special butt
of the gang of which Diana and Venus were the leaders. Scipio was
unusually black, with the common combination of yellow eyes and blue
gums, and upon this color scheme his tormentors lit like bee martins on
a crow.
“Blue gum, yalluh eye,
Black nigguh berry sly;
Yalluh eye, blue gum,
Black nigguh lub rum.
Yalluh eye, w’en you shum,
Black nigguh lub rum.”
“Yaas, tittie, ’e stan’ so fuh true. Sat’d’y night da’ nigguh gone
Cross Road’. ’E buy uh killybash full uh rum f’um de buckruh. ’E
drink’um eb’ry Gawd’ drap. ’E nebbuh gi’ nobody none. ’E gone home.
Sunday, _’e dead_! ’E nebbuh know nutt’n’ ’tell Sunday night ’e maamy
full’ uh piggin full uh watuh out de well en’ t’row’um ’puntop’uh
Scipio, weh ’e duh leddown ’puntop de flo’, fuh mek’um fuh wake. De
nigguh binnuh leddown ’puntop ’e back fuh sleep. ’E sleep’ haa’d. ’E
groan’ en’ ’e groan! ’E groan’ en’ ’e groan’! ’E mout’ op’n roun’ same
lukkuh snake hole. W’en de watuh full’ ’e mout’, ’e blow lukkuh de
’strucshun strain injine duh blow off steam w’en ’e duh load grabble!
De t’ing ’trangle’um. ’E choke! ’E jump out ’e maamy’ do’ en’ ’e gone
t’ru de briah-patch dat fas’ ’e lef’ half ’e britchiz ’puntop de briah!
Bumbye, w’en ’e maamy gone duh ’ood fuh fine’um, please Gawd, de nigguh
binnuh leddown flat ’puntop ’e belly een de du’t, duh swim! Da’ piggin
full uh watuh hab shishuh cuntrady tas’e een ’e mout’, ’e mek’um t’ink
suh him dey een de ribbuh! ’E ’tretch out all fo’ ’e han’ en’ ’e foot.
’E ten finguh’ duh grabble een de du’t. Bumbye, w’en ’e han’ loos’n
de du’t, ’e feel uh pinetree root. ’E graff’um een alltwo ’e han’! ’E
holluh. ‘_Tengk Gawd_,’ ’e say, ‘_uh done sabe! Uh yent fuh drowndid no
mo!_’ En’ da’ fool nigguh pull ’pun de pinetree root fuh hice ’eself
out de ribbuh! Da’ rum do’um _bad_!”
Scipio swelled with wrath, but at first “too full for sound or foam,”
bent to his task and, cutting savagely at the thickest stalks, under
the impetus of anger, soon forged ahead of the others and led the line.
Before he drew away, however, he projected this Parthian shot with a
torpedo in its tail: “Benus en’ Diana, oonuh alltwo duh bodduh me,
w’ymekso oonuh ent study ’bout Paul? Him duh alltwo oonuh sweeth’aa’t
en’ t’ing. Diana t’ink suh Paul duh him’own ’cause ’e ge’m da’ catfish
’e ketch las’ Sat’d’y, en’ Benus t’ink suh him duh she’own, ’cause ’e
buy gunjuh fuhr’um duh Cross Road’, but Paul nebbuh buy no frock fuh
Diana, en’ ’e nebbuh buy none fuh Benus, but him buy’um fuh Minda,
en’ ’e duh keep cump’ny ’long Minda, en’ him duh yalluh gal, en’ Paul
nebbuh fuh study ’bout no black nigguh’ no mo’! Him duh fool oonuh
alltwo!”
The torpedo exploded.
Two dusky faces quickly changed from smirking comedy to girding
tragedy. Two stalwart forms stiffened in their tracks and stood
astraddle like two Colossi of Rhodes. Two pairs of powerful arms
akimboed, and two sets of sinewy fingers clutched the handles of their
rice hooks!
“Hukkuh Paul happ’n fuh gi’ you catfish? You mus’be baig fuhr’um, enty?”
“_Baig fuhr’um!_ Me fuh baig man fuh catfish! _I_ iz uh lady, uh wan’
you fuh know, en’ ef _you_ haffuh baig’um fuh _gunjuh_, me yent haffuh
baig’um fuh _catfish_!”
“Wuh you got fuh do wid wuh Paul gi’ me? Him duh _yo’_ juntlemun, enty?”
“Ef ’e yent my’own, uh know berry well suh him ent fuh blonx to no
black nigguh lukkuh you!”
“_Nigguh!_ Who you call nigguh? _De Debble is uh nigguh!_”
“Him duh nigguh fuh true, but dis ricefiel’ full uh ’e chillun, en’ ’e
gran’chillun alltwo, en’ uh ’spec’ you duh one uh ’e gran’!”
A shriek of laughter from Scipio filled Diana’s cup of anger to
overflowing, and, with a savage rice-cutting swing, she sideswiped
Venus with her saw-edged sickle, and cut her acquaintance below, and
behind, the belt. Bustles were not then worn, but the victim was saved
from a most inconvenient wound by the folds of her looped-up skirt,
which, like a furled sail, hung just abaft the beam, and she received
only a scratch. Starting at the scratch, however, Diana was twenty feet
away and going strong when Venus, yelling with pain, turned and gave
chase. Screams of laughter mingled with shouts of excitement, as Diana
tripped and fell on the stubble, and Venus, too close to check her
speed, stumbled over her prostrate assailant and came a cropper, the
rice hook flying out of her hand as she fell. Diana’s weapon, having
been taken from her by one of the men, the two ladies were on equal
terms with nature’s weapons, and, both being on all-fours, literally
and figuratively, they soon fastened their “ten commandments” in each
other’s wool. They fought viciously and silently, and not until,
collapsed from exhaustion, they had been separated by the men, did they
again become vocal. Venus’ gingham skirt had suffered a cruel rent.
As she reached behind her and felt the yawning gap in her sartorial
hinterland, and realized the ignominy that had been put upon her by
this “most unkindest cut of all,” she shrieked in anger. “Uh gwine
tek you Trial Jestuss! You fuh gone Adam’ Run fuh dis t’ing wuh you
done do!” and she flung wrathfully out of the field. Out of the babel
of voices that arose among the partisans of the two goddesses, the
dominant note was abuse of Scipio, who had flung Paul, the apple, or
rather the Guinea squash, of discord among them.
“Wuh you haffuh do ’long Paul’ name? Ef him _iz_ buy gunjuh en’ frock
en’ t’ing fuh t’ree ’ooman’, uh sho’ ’e mo’ bettuh den fuh nebbuh buy
nutt’n’ fuh none!” showing the world-wide feminine appreciation of a
free spender. “Wuh you ebbuh buy fuh ’ooman? Eb’ry Sat’d’y night da’
buckruh’ sto’ duh Cross Road’ full up wid ’ooman, en’ _you_ ebbuh buy
uh tencent wut’ uh bakin fuh greese dem mout’? No, suh! You lub fuh
talk sweetmout’ talk ’long’um, but you dat stingy you nebbuh buy uh
candy, eeduhso uh sugar, fuh sweet’n dem mout’. Ent you know suh ’ooman
lub uh freehan’ man?”
“Yaas, tittie! You talk trute! ’Ooman redduh hab ’e mout’ full’uh
muhlassis den ’e yez full’uh sweetmout’ talk!”
“Him lub’um alltwo,” observed a sapient one. “Him mout’ en’ him yez
alltwo fuh full one time!”
* * * * *
On the second Saturday thereafter, having been summoned by Big Jim
Green, the negro constable, Venus and Diana, with their respective
satellites, appeared before the Trial Justice at Adams Run station,
where Diana, duly indicted, was charged in the comprehensive
phraseology of the Criminal Code with such a string of offenses against
the peace and dignity of the State of South Carolina and the proper
person of Venus Chisolm that her ears tingled and her eyes popped with
amazement.
“Guilty or not guilty?”
“Uh yent know wuh you call so, Jedge, but uh nebbuh do none uh dem
t’ing wuh da’ papuh call dem name. Ef Jedus yeddy me, uh nebbuh do uh
Gawd’ t’ing but cut da’ ’ooman, en’ uh nebbuh hab uh chance fuh cut’um
_good_, ’cause ’e hab ’e frock tie’up ’roun’ ’e wais’, en’ w’en uh cut
at ’e hanch en’ de rice hook ketch ’e frock weh ’e roll’up behine’um,
dat sabe de ’ooman’ meat, en’ uh only able fuh ’cratch ’e skin, but
uh ’cratch’um ’nuf fuh mek’um holluh same lukkuh hog’ holluh w’en
oonuh cut dem yez fuh maa’k’um, en’ alldo’ uh yent puhzac’ly _cut_ de
’ooman, uh _try_ fuh cut’um, but uh cut ’e frock en’ uh only able fuh
’cratch’um, en’ ef uh _yiz_ bin cut’um, duh Scipio mek’ me fuh do’um,
’cause him come duh ricefiel’ wid da’ bluegum mout’ uh him’own full’uh
pizen talk fuh bex me nuh Benus, en’ uh always yeddy suh ef uh bluegum
nigguh bite you ’e gwine pizen you same lukkuh moccasin, en’ same
fashi’n de talk wuh come out da’ nigguh’ jaw pizen alltwo uh we en’ mek
we fuh fight, but, Jedge, uh nebbuh cut Benus lukkuh da’ papuh say,
’cause ef uh had’uh cut’um _fuh true, true_! da’ ’ooman would’uh haffuh
stan’up ’puntop’uh ’e two foot fuh t’ree week!”
“Received as information,” observed the magistrate, and he called
Venus, who came up smiling. “You have heard Diana’s story. What have
you to say?”
“Uh yeddy’um, suh. But ’e cut me.”
“Where did she cut you?”
“Suh?”
“Where did she cut you?”
“’E cut me een Mas’ Edwu’d’ ricefiel’, suh.”
“Yes, I know you were all in the ricefield, but where did she cut you?”
“’E cut me een ten acre, suh.”
“Cut you in ten acre!”
“’E cut me een da’ ten acre square wuh stan’ close to de baa’nyaa’d,
suh.”
“Well, you have given the location in the ricefield, now, where on your
person did Diana cut you with a rice hook?”
“Suh?”
“Your person is your body. Did she cut you on your body?”
“Yaas, suh, ’e cut me.”
“Well, on what part of your body did she cut you?”
“Da’ same place wuh you call ’e name, suh.”
“What place?”
“’E cut me on me _pussun_, suh, en’, Jedge, de t’ing sweet’n’ me so
bad, ef uh could’uh ketch da’ ’ooman ’fo’ uh ketch me foot en’ fall
obuhr’um, da’ ’ooman would uh _dead_!”
As there was murderous intent in the sudden heat and passion of both
Venus and Diana, the court imposed upon the defendant a fine only
sufficient to rehabilitate the wardrobe of the prosecuting witness,
who sailed out of court thoroughly satisfied with the new frock in
prospect and the present enrichment of her vocabulary by the buckra
word “pussun.”
THE DOWER HOUSE
The “Dower House,” which Abram Drayton had inherited from his father,
old John, now resting under the great live-oaks of the plantation
burying ground, was quite a pretentious affair, two stories high, with
two chimneys and a leak. The stories were not very high, only six or
seven feet in the clear, but it was sometimes convenient to be able
to reach up and touch the ceiling, and, after all, it was a two-story
house and, like all two-story houses among the negroes, added greatly
to the prestige of the owner’s family. In the usual one-story negro
cabin, the boarded-over “loft,” reached by ladder, is at once the
sleeping room for the children, the granary for corn and peas, and the
hay mow for whatever straw or fodder the householder possesses, but
the Dower House had a real second story, attained by steps, narrow
and teetering ’tis true, which the ascending biped usually “cooned”
on all-fours, but they were steps, not rungs, and, however vigorously
the negro expresses in hymns and spirituals his willingness, indeed
anxiety, to “climb up Jacob’s ladder,” in the present life he prefers
the creak of a board under his foot.
Under the law of primogeniture, arbitrarily established by old John for
the disposition and control of his landed property, the “Two-Chimbly
House” was bequeathed by word of mouth to his eldest son, and similarly
settled upon his eldest grandson, and so on, as long as the line
lasted, or until the shingles fell off, when dynastic difficulties
would inevitably intervene. Perhaps he had heard of primogeniture and
dower houses while waiting at the table of his English-bred master
in the old times, but however the idea came into his kinky head, once
in, it stuck, and he determined that a Dower House he would leave, and
a Dower House entailed. “Uh gwine tie de ’tail ’puntop da’ house fuh
hol’um _fas’_! Uh tie’um fus’ ’puntop my boy, Ebbrum, en’ den ’e fuh
tie ’puntop _him_ boy, my gran’, en’ de ’tail ent fuh tek’off! De ’tail
ent fuh tie ’puntop no ’ooman. ’Ooman ent fuh hab no house. Man fuh
hab’um en’ him fuh hol’um, so him kin fetch de ’ooman to ’e han’!”
So, the “’tail” still tied to Abram, in due time he came into the Dower
House, and here, in the woods on the road from Adams Run Station to Caw
Caw Swamp, he lived and reared a family.
At the tail of the summer his wife partook “not wisely but too well”
of watermelon and buttermilk, and through the unfortunate combination
was forthwith translated from the bosom of Abram to that of Abraham.
The widowed man resigned himself to the will of the Lord, and accepted
his bereavement not the less philosophically that his crop was already
made and partly gathered. “Ef de Lawd haffuh tek’um, uh glad ’E yent
tek’um ’tell de crap done mek,” he reflected gratefully and reverently.
In a week he had picked and sold the last of his cotton, and out of the
proceeds outfitted his old mare with a new saddle, bridle and cloth,
notwithstanding which, the ungrateful creature, with true feminine
perversity, “gone en’ leddown en’ _dead_, jis’ ’cause uh yent feed’um
fuh two’t’ree day. Uh nebbuh know da’ mare gwine hongry to dat! ’E
hongry ’tell ’e dead, en’ now uh haffuh tek me two foot en’ walk!”
Abram, being now more than a “settled” man, jogged along in single
harness uneventfully for several months. “Not so young, sir, to love a
woman for singing, nor so old as to dote on her for anything,” he now,
in the autumn of his days, became somewhat critical in the matter of
feminine needlework. His grown daughter esteemed herself a competent,
almost a skilful, patcher of broken, frayed or frazzled raiment. She
knew very well how to put crocus or burlap patches on the knees of
the jeans or blue denim trousers affected by her sire, but though she
could attach them in such fashion that they would hold, the edges
always overlapped like the strakes of a clinker-built whale boat. But
whatever these patches lacked in symmetrical attachment, they served
well enough, for, as Abram advanced in years, he did not kneel so often
as he sat. The seats of his trousers, however, yawned in pathetic
neglect for, however acceptably his daughter repaired his broken knees,
the half-soling of the seats was a much more serious matter, which she
lacked the high spirit to undertake, and he carried about with him,
whithersoever he went, gaping wounds in his sartorial equipment where,
according to Hudibras, “a kick in that part more hurts honor than deep
wounds before.” Not that anyone would ever have kicked him, for he was
of a quiet and inoffensive disposition.
Most observers of humanity have noted with interest the close
resemblance of certain types of the “wild (and tame) animals one has
known.” The horse, the ass, the bulldog, the pug, sheep and goat,
fox, raccoon and rat, the ’possum, grinning with pious hypocrisy,
and the Berkshire pig with slanting eyes and champing jowls, are all
marked likenesses frequently reproduced in human faces, representing
the stupid, the sly, the selfish, the grasping, the predaceous, the
stubborn, the sensual, the combative, the treacherous--all of them to
be avoided, or warily appraised, for the good of one’s soul--and of
one’s pocket. Unhappily, those who have been blessed with so rich an
experience as to have suffered both fools and knaves, seldom learn
to read the buoys with which nature has wisely marked the dangerous
reefs in her physiognomonic charts, until the keels of their craft
grind upon the rocks! But Abram’s face was that of the mild-eyed,
introspective ox. There was no militant personality in the neighborhood
to “walk a mile out of his way to kick a sheep,” and, even had there
been, to have kicked Abram would have been anatomically impossible,
for the unsportsmanlike may shoot a sitting bird, but he cannot kick
(offensively) a sitting man, and Abram was usually sitting! So, having
held inviolate against the insulting toe the seats of his trousers,
which he had lost only through the slow attrition of honest sloth, he
retained his self-respect, though he was a peripatetic scandal whenever
he went abroad upon his “peaceful occasions.” With praiseworthy
propriety, he now came in late to church or prayer-meeting, and, a
vigorous and devout “class leader,” coached his class from the bench,
dreading the publicity of the sidelines. Then he sat discreetly at the
close of the services until “de ’ooman en’ t’ing” had gained an offing
and sailed away, when, as he showed a fairly presentable front, he
would follow after them and engage in long distance conversation.
“Come on, Bredduh Drayton. Mekso you walk so slow?”
“Uh haffuh walk slow, tittie, ’cause dese debble’ub’uh britchiz bus’,
en’ dem ent wut. Da’ gal uh my’own able fuh pit uh berry deestunt patch
’puntop de knee, but seem lukkuh him ent able fuh do nutt’n’ ’long de
seat. Da’ w’ymekso dish’yuh britchiz do berry well fuh man fuh seddown
een’um, but dem cyan’ specify fuh walk.”
“Wuh mekso you ent tek anodduh lady fuh wife? You got big house en’
’nuf groun’ fuh mek crap, mekso you ent fuh hab ’ooman?”
“Uh hab house en’ groun,’ fuh true. Uh got uh two-chimbly house, but
’ooman shishuh onsaa’t’n t’ing, uh kinduh ’f’aid fuh tek anodduh
chance. Ebbuh sence my lady nyam dem watuhmilyun en’ buttuhmilk en’ him
Jedus tek’um, uh yent hab nutt’n’ fuh bodduh me. Uh kin seddown een de
sunhot eenjurin’ de whole day en’ nebbuh yeddy no ’ooman’ woice duh
call fuh tell me fuh git’up. Uh kin seddown tell uh fuh gone ’sleep.”
“Yaas, my Bredduh, you binnuh seddown, fuh true!” a church sister
laughingly retorted. “Da’ de reas’n w’ymekso you shame’ fuh stan’up fuh
lead yo’ class! Long seddown mek short stan’up, you know.”