The time was registration day; the place was a a small town in Southern
Illinois. There was no girl. He was a gentleman of color, and the
registrar was having considerable trouble explaining the whys and
wherefors of the registration. At last Rastus showed a faint glimmer of
intelligence.
"Dis heyah registrashum fo' de draf' am a whole lot like 'lection
votin', ain't it?" he asked uncertainly.
"Yes," answered the kindly registrar.
Rastus scratched his head in troubled doubt. He was thinking deeply.
Presently his brow cleared and a smile spread over his face. He had
come to a decision.
"Den I votes for Julius Jackson ter be drafted," he said. "I nebah did
hab no use fo' dat niggah."