some talk about the various attractions of the fair. “Up dar in Atlanty
deze kinder doin’s would be laughed at, I ’speck, but hit’s de bes’
we-all kin do. Me an’ Miss Vallie had some truck dar, speshually dat
ar grape jelly on de right han’ side. Ef dat jelly don’t git de blue
ribbon er sump’n better, hit’ll be bakaze dem ar jedgment men ain’t got
no sense—I don’t keer who dey is. Ain’t you see dat ar quilt hangin’ up
dar wid a pattern in it like a well-whorl, only de middle er de whorl
was shape like de mornin’ star? Dat ar quilt is older dan what you is,
suh—lots older. Me an’ Mistiss made dat quilt long ’fo’ Miss Vallie wuz
born, an’ dish yer baby’ll tell you she ain’t no chicken. Ef dey’s any
purtier quilt on dat hill dey had it hid ter-day; dey ain’t brung it out
whar folks kin look at it. I dunno much, but I knows dat much.”
We reached the house after awhile, and I lost no time in stretching
myself out on a lounge that sat invitingly in the hall behind the
stairway. It was not the coolest place in the world; but, really, when
one is fagged out, it is unnecessary to try to find all the comforts
of life in one spot. Sleep fell on me unawares, and when I awoke, Aunt
Minervy Ann was sitting near the head of the lounge fanning me. Such
courtesy was surprising, as well as pleasing, but I chid her for taking
so much trouble, for I had slept nearly two hours. But she made light of
it, saying she had nothing else to do, the baby being in his cradle and
sleeping like a log.
[Illustration: “Dat ar grape jelly on de right han’ side.”]
Then, to enjoy a smoke, I drew a rocking-chair into the back porch, and
proceeded to fill my pipe with what I regarded as a very good brand of
tobacco, offering some to Aunt Minervy Ann. She soon found her pipe—clay
bowl and reed stem—cleaned it out carefully and filled it from my pouch.
“It look mighty pale, suh,” she remarked. “I ’speck dey steam it ’fo’ dey
mash it up.” She seated herself on the top step, lit her pipe, took a few
whiffs, and then shook her head. “’Tain’t nigh rank ’nuff for me, suh.
Hit tas’e like you er dreamin’ ’bout smokin’ an’ know all de time ’tain’t
nothin’ but a dream.” She knocked the tobacco out, and then refilled the
pipe with the crumbs and cutting from the end of a plug. This she smoked
with an air of supreme satisfaction.
“I ’speck you got de idee dat I better be seein’ ’bout supper, stidder
settin’ up here lookin’ biggity. But ’tain’t no use, suh. Marse Tumlin
and Miss Vallie never is ter come home dis day less’n dey bring Marse
Paul wid um. I done hear um sesso. An’ I know mighty well, deyer gwine
ter come back late, bekaze Paul Conant’s one er dem kinder folks what go
twel dey can’t go, an’ when dey git down dey make motions like dey gwine.
Dey puts me in mind uv a lizard’s tail, suh. Knock it off, an’ it’ll hop
’bout an’ work an’ wiggle plum twel de sun go down.”
I suggested that the illustration was somewhat inapt (though not in
those words), for the reason that Paul Conant’s energy was not expended
blindly. But I found that Aunt Minervy knew what she was saying.
“I ain’t talkin’ ’bout his own business, suh, bekaze dey ain’t nobody
beat ’im at dat. No, suh; I’m talkin’ ’bout dem ar doin’s out dar at de
fair groun’s. He’s a-workin’ at dat lots harder dan he has ter work fer
hisse’f. Maybe you tuck notice uv de way dem yuther folks done out dar,
suh. Dey stood ’round wid dey mouf open, an’ de ribbon pinned on der
coats, an’ when sump’n had ter be done, dey’d call out fer Conant. It
’uz ‘Conant!’ here an’ ‘Conant!’ dar, an’ ef Conant wuz out er hearin’
de whole shebang had ter stop right still an’ wait twel Conant kin be
dragged up. I watched um p’intedly, suh, an’ it’s des like I tell you.”
Aunt Minervy Ann’s characterization of the directors was so acute and so
unexpected that I laughed—not at what she said, but at the vivid picture
of a lot of helpless men standing about, full of dignity, and yet waiting
for young Conant to tell them what to do.
[Illustration: “‘Conant!’ here and ‘Conant!’ dar.”]
“You may laugh, suh,” Aunt Minervy Ann went on with a little frown,
“but I’m tellin’ you de Lord’s trufe. I kep’ my eyes on um, an’ ’twuz
dat-a-way fum soon dis mornin’ ’twel I got mad an’ come home. You kin
ax Hamp, suh, an’ he’ll tell you de same. I reckon you heer’d Marse
Tumlin las’ night at de table ax Marse Paul ef his shoulder hurted ’im.
I know you did, suh, bekaze I tuck notice how you looked, an’ I tried
ter shake de baby up so he’d cry, but dat wuz one er de times, suh, when
he wouldn’t be shuck up. Any udder time dat chil’ would er laid back an’
blated twel you’d hafter put yo’ fingers in yo’ years. I wuz mad wid ’im,
suh, but I wuz bleedz ter laugh. Chillun mighty funny. When you don’t
want um ter cry, dey’ll holler der heads off, an’ when you want um ter
cry, dey’ll laugh in yo’ face. I bet you dey’s a blue place on dat baby’s
arm whar I pinched ’im, but he didn’t no mo’ min’ it dan nothin’.”
“Well,” said I, “there was something peculiar in the way all of you
looked and acted when the Major asked about Mr. Conant’s shoulder. It was
a very simple question.”
“Ah, Lord!” exclaimed Aunt Minervy Ann, raising her right hand on high,
“dey better ax ’bout dat shoulder. Yesser! ev’y day an’ ev’y night, an’
in betwixt times.”
“Is Mr. Conant troubled with rheumatism?” I inquired.
“Rheumatiz! bless yo’ soul, honey! Ef ’twuz rheumatiz dey wouldn’t be no
Paul Conant ’round dis house, ner no Conant baby.”
Here is something decidedly interesting, I thought, but held my peace,
knowing that whatever it was would be more quickly disclosed if there
were any disclosure to make.
“Ain’t you never hear ’bout it, suh? Well dat bangs me! An’ you right up
dar in Atlanty, too! No, suh; you must er been in Savanny, bekaze ’twuz
de town talk in Atlanty. Anyhow, wharsomever you wuz er might er been,
dey ain’t no rheumatiz de matter wid Marse Paul Conant’s shoulder-blade.
I know dat much, an’ I know it mighty well, bekaze I wuz right here in
dis house, an’ nowhars else ’cep’n ’roun’ de lot an’ up town an’ back.
“Well, den, suh, ef you ain’t never hear ’bout dat, I most know you ain’t
never hear tell er how I run’d off, and how I run’d back, bekaze nobody
ain’t never talk ’bout dat—leas’ways, not as I knows un.”
I declared to Aunt Minervy Ann that I never heard a whisper of it. She
leaned back against the railing of the steps and drew a long whiff from
her pipe.
“’Tain’t no use ter tell you, suh, how times wuz right atter de war.
You wuz right in um, an’ ef you don’t know, it’s bekaze you didn’t look
’roun’ an’ see um. I hear um say, suh, dat niggers wuz po’ when dey come
free. Dey wuz, suh; dey wuz rank pizen po’; but dey never wuz in dis
worl’ a nigger ez po’ ez some er our white folks wuz. You may shake yo’
haid, suh, but I’m givin’ you de straight gov’nment trufe. Niggers is use
ter bein’ po’, an’ dey never wuz dat po’ dat dey can’t scuffle ’roun’ an’
make out somehow. Dey er been po’ so long dey er usen ter it. But white
folks what been rich! I hope de Lord’ll call me home ’fo’ I see again
what I done saw in dem days. I know in reason, suh, dat I seed mo’ er de
trouble dan what you did, kaze you couldn’t go in at de back gates like
me; an’ what trouble folks does have dey allers keep it somers betwix’ de
bedroom an’ de back gate.
“De Perdues wa’n’t no wuss off dan nobody else. Marse Tumlin had dish yer
house an’ lot, an’ de plantation, an’ some lan’ way off yander. But all
de hosses an’ mules an’ cattle been tuck off, an’ de niggers all gone.
Ef he’d er stayed on de plantation, de niggers would ’a’ been dar yit,
but stay he wouldn’t, an’ stay he didn’t, an’ so dar he wuz.
“Do sump’n? What he gwine do? Fo’ de big turmoil he done some lawin’ an’
a heap er farmin’. Leas’ways my ol’ Mistiss done de farmin’, an’ Marse
Tumlin, he done de lawin’. He had ’im a office here in town, an’ on set
days he’d come in an’ look arter de cases what he had. But how anybody
gwine ter do any lawin’ dat-a-way? Marse Tumlin ain’t keerin’ whedder he
git one case er none. He ain’t bleedze ter do no lawin’. An’ den ’pon
top er dat he went off whar dey battlin’, an’ dar he stayed, an’ when he
come back, look like de kinder lawin’ what he use ter do done gone outer
fashion. Ef he hadn’t er been holp out, suh, I dunner what’d ’a’ come un
’im. An’ ’twa’n’t only Marse Tumlin. Dey wuz a whole passel un um, too
young ter die an’ too ol’ ter win money in dem kinder times. Ef you ain’t
ol’ ’nuff ter ’member dem times, suh, you kin thank de Lord, kaze dey sho
did look like tetotal ruination.
“Now, you know yo’se’f, suh, dat you can’t eat a house an’ lot an’ live
dar too; an’ you can’t eat lan’ des dry so less’n you got a mighty
appetite fer dirt. Whyn’t he sell de lan’? You oughter be de las’ one
ter ax me dat, suh. Who gwine buy it? Dem what ain’t got lan’ ain’t had
no money, an’ dem what had money sholy lived a mighty long ways fum here.
Day in an’ day out, suh, I wuz de wuss pester’d nigger you ever laid eyes
on. I ain’t know what ter do.
“An’ den ’pon top er dat, dar wuz Hamp, my ol’ man. When freedom come
out, he tuck de notion dat we better go off some’rs an’ change de name
what we got so dey can’t put us back in slave’y. Night an’ day it fair
rankle in his min’, an’ he kep’ groanin’ an’ growlin’ ’bout it twel I
got stirred up. I oughtn’t ter tell it, suh, but hit’s de Lord’s trufe.
I got mad, I did, an’ I tol’ Hamp I’d go. An’ den I wa’n’t doin’ no good
stayin’ here. ’Twuz des one mo’ mouf ter feed, an’ mo’ dan one, countin’
Hamp. So, bimeby, one day, when I wuz sorter fretted, I tol’ Hamp ter go
on out dar in de country, whar his daddy live at, an’ I’d meet ’im dar
’fo’ night.
“When de time come, I went in de house an’ hunt fer Miss Vallie. She ’uz
settin’ in de parlor by de winder, but behime de curtain like, so nobody
can’t see ’er. She ’uz settin’ dar wid ’er han’s crossed on ’er lap, an’
she look so little, an’ pale, an’ weak, dat I come mighty nigh gwine
right back in de kitchen. But she seed me too quick. Den I up’n tell ’er
dat I’m gwine out in de country, ter whar Hamp daddy live at. She look at
me right hard an’ say, ‘When you comin’ back, Aunt Minervy Ann?’ I ’low,
‘I’m comin’ back des ez soon ez I kin make my ’rangements, honey.’ She
say, ‘Well, I hope you’ll have a good time while you er gone.’ I ’low,
‘Thanky, ma’m.’ Wid dat I went an’ got my bundle an’ put opt fum dar—an’
I ain’t look back nudder, bekaze I had a mighty weakness in de knees, an’
a mighty risin’ in my th’oat.
“I went on down de road, an’ ef anybody had so much ez said _boo_ ter me,
I’d ’a’ turned right ’roun’ an’ gone back home. I went on, I did, twel
I come ter de mile branch. I see somebody crossin’ on de log, an’ when
I come up wid um, who should it ’a’ been but Marse Tumlin. An’ he had
_one chicken_! He had been out ter de plantation—sev’m mile ef its fifty
yards—an’ here he wuz comin’ back wid one chicken—an’ him a walkin’, him
dat use ter ride ’roun’ in his carriage! Walkin’ an’ totin’ one little
chicken! Man, suh! I don’t never want ter feel again like I felt den.
Whedder ’twuz de chicken, er what, I never did see Marse Tumlin Perdue
look ez ol’ an’ ez weasly ez he did den. He look at me an’ sorter laugh
like I done cotch ’im doin’ sump’n he ain’t got no business ter do. But
dey wa’n’t no laugh in me; no, suh, not by a jugful.
[Illustration: “Drapt down on de groun’ dar an’ holler an’ cry.”]
“He say, ‘Hello, Minervy Ann! whar _you_ gwine?’ I ’low, I did, ‘I’m des
gwine out yander whar Hamp kinnery live at.’
“He sorter pull his goatee, an’ look down at de dus’ on his shoes—an’
dey wuz fair kiver’d wid it—an’ den he say, ‘Well, Minervy Ann, I wish
you mighty well. You sho is done a mighty good part by me an’ mine. Ef
yo’ Miss Mary wuz ’live she’d know what ter say—I don’t, ’cep’ dis’—he
straighten up an’ stretch out his han’—‘’cep’ dis: whenever you want ter
come back home, you’ll fin’ de do’ open. Ef you come at night, des knock.
We’ll know yo’ knock.’
“You ain’t never seed no fool nigger ’oman cut up, is you? Well, ef you
does see one, suh, I hope ter goodness ’twon’t be me! Marse Tumlin ain’t
no mo’n got de words out’n his mouf, suh, ’fo’ I tuck de bundle what I
had in my han’, an’ flung it fur ez I could send it.
“Marse Tumlin look at me hard, an’ den he say, ‘Dam ef I don’t b’lieve
youer crazy!’ Time he say it, I ’low, ‘_I don’t keer er dam ef I is!_’
“Yasser! I say it sho, an’ den I drapt down on de groun’ dar an’ holler
an’ cry like somebody wuz beatin’ de life out’n me. Marse Tumlin stood
dar pullin’ at his goatee all dat time, an’ bimeby I got up. I wa’n’t
feelin’ much better, but I done had my cry an’ dat’s sump’n. I got up, I
did, an’ start back de way I come.
“Marse Tumlin say, ‘Whar you gwine, Minervy Ann? I ’low, ‘I’m gwine back
home—dat’s whar I’m gwine!’ He say, ‘Pick up yo’ bundle.’ Wid dat I turn
’roun’ on him an’ ’low, ‘I ain’t gwine ter do it! Ef it hadn’t er been
fer dat ar muslin dress in dar, what Miss Vallie make over an’ gi’ me,
I’d been at home right dis minute.’
“He ’low, ‘What dat got ter do wid it, Minervy Ann?’ I make answer,
‘Bekaze ol’ Satan make me want ter put it on an’ sho’ off ’fo’ dem
country niggers out dar whar Hamp’s folks live at.’ Wid dat I start back
home, but Marse Tumlin holler at me—‘Minervy Ann, take dis chicken.’ I
tuck it, I did, an’ made off up de road. Bimeby I sorter flung my eye
’roun’, an’, bless gracious! dar wuz Marse Tumlin comin’ ’long totin’
my bundle. Well, suh, it flewed all over me like fier. I got so mad wid
myse’f dat I could ’a’ bit a piece out’n my own flesh.
“I waited in de road twel he come up, an’ den I snatched de bundle out er
his han’. I ’low, ‘I ain’t gwine ter have you totin’ none er my bundles
in de public road—no, ner no chickens, needer.’ He say, ‘Well, don’t
fling it ’way, Minervy Ann. De time may come when yo’ Miss Vallie’ll need
dat ar muslin dress.’
“When we got back home I went in de kitchen, an’ fix ter clean an’ kill
de chicken. I ’speck Marse Tumlin must ’a’ tol’ Miss Vallie ’bout it,
bekaze ’twan’t long ’fo’ I hear her runnin’ ’long de plank walk ter de
kitchen. She whipt in de do’ she did, an’ grab me an’ cry like I done riz
fum de dead. Well, suh, niggers ain’t got no sense, you kin take um de
world over. No sooner is Miss Vallie start ter cry dan I chuned up, an’
dar we had it.
“’Bout dat time, Marse Tumlin, he come out—men folks is allers gwine
some’rs dey got no business. He ’low, ‘What you’all blubberin’ ’bout?’
I make answer, ‘We er cryin’ over dese two chickens.’ He ax, ‘What two
chickens?’ I ’low, ‘I’m cryin’ over dis un, kaze it’s so little, an’ Miss
Vallie cryin’ over de one what you ain’t brung.’ He say, ‘Well, I be
dang!’ an’ wid dat he went back in de house.
“An’ den, atter supper, such ez ’twuz, here come Hamp, an’ he say he
come ter lay de law down. I ’speck I like my ol’ man ’bout ez good ez
any udder ’oman what’s lawfully married, but ef I didn’t put a flea in
Hamp year dat night you may shoot me dead. Ef he’d ’a’ waited a day er
two, hit might er been diffunt; but, manlike, he had ter come at de wrong
time, an’ he ain’t open his mouf ’fo’ I wuz fightin’ mad. Ol’ Miss allers
use ter tell me I wuz a bad nigger when I got my dander up, but I never
did look at myse’f dat-a-way twel dat night.
“Well, Hamp he come an’ stood in de do’, but I ain’t say nothin’. Den he
come in de kitchen, an’ stan’ ’roun’, but still I ain’t say nothin’. Den
he sot down next de chimbley, but all dat time I ain’t say nothin’. He
look right pitiful, suh, an’ ef I hadn’t been mad, I’d ’a’ been sorry fer
’im. But I ain’t say nothin’.
“Bimeby, he ’low, ‘’Nervy’—he allers call me ’Nervy—‘’Nervy, whyn’t you
go whar you say you gwine?’ I flung myse’f ’roun’ at ’im an’ say, ‘Bekaze
I ain’t choosen ter go—dar you got it!’ He ’low, ‘Well, you start ter
go, kaze I seed you!’ I say, ‘Yes, an’ I start ter come back, an’ you’d
’a’ seed dat ef you’d ’a’ looked right close.’ He ’low, ‘’Nervy, don’t
you know dem folks in yander’ll think you b’long to um?’ I say, ‘I does.
Ain’t I free? Can’t I b’long to um ef I wanter? I’d like ter see de one
ter hender me. What dey done ter you? An’ what’s I done ter you dat you
want ter drag me ’way fum my white folks? You go drag you’se’f—you can’t
drag _me_.’ He ’low, ‘Dey done begin ter call you a white-folks nigger,
an’ dey say you gwine back on yo’ own color.’”
Aunt Minervy Ann paused here to laugh. “Mad ez I wuz, suh, de minnit
Hamp said dat I know’d I had ter change my chune. I ’low, ‘I know right
pine-blank who tol’ you dat. ’Twan’t nobody in de roun’ worl’ but ol’
Cely Ensign, an’ she ain’t tell you dat in comp’ny, needer. She tol’ you
whar nobody can’t hear ’er but you. Don’t you fret! des ez soon ez I
git thoo wid supper, I’m gwine ’roun’ dar an’ drag ’er out an’ gi’ ’er
de wuss frailin’ any nigger ever got sence de overseers quit bizness. I
ain’t fergot dat ar’ possum you toted off ter her house.’
“Well, suh, I had ’im! He caved in. He ’low, ‘’Twan’t no ’possum; ’twan’t
nothin’ in de roun’ worl’ but a late watermillion.’ I holler, ‘_Ah-yi!
watermillion!_ Well, den, ef you want ter drag anybody off fum der white
folks, go an’ drag ol’ Cely Ensign—bekaze you can’t drag me.’
“We jowered right smart, but I had Hamp in a cornder. He went off an’
stayed maybe a mont’, an’ den he come back, an’ atter ’while he got
’lected ter de legislature. He done mighty well, suh. He got nine dollars
a day, an’ ev’y Sat’dy night he’d fetch de bigges’ part uv it home.
’Twuz mighty handy, too, suh, kaze ef hadn’t been fer dat legislatur’
money I dunner what me and Miss Vallie an’ Marse Tumlin would ’a’ done.
“Dat wuz ’bout de time, suh, dat de town boys wanter ku-kluck Hamp, an’
you an’ Marse Tumlin went out an’ ku-klucked dem. Hamp ain’t never forgot
it, suh. He’d walk fum here to Atlanty fer you ef ’twould do you any
good. He don’t say much, but I know how he feel. I hear ’im calling me
now, suh.”
“You haven’t told me about Paul Conant,” I suggested.
“I’ll tell you, suh, ’fo’ you go.”
In half a minute I heard Aunt Minervy Ann quarrelling and laughing at
Hamp in the same breath.
IV
HOW SHE JOINED THE GEORGIA LEGISLATURE
The second day of the fair, I saw more of Paul Conant. He insisted on
taking charge of me, and, in his buggy, we visited every part of the
fair-grounds, which had been laid out on a most liberal scale. When
dinner-time came I was glad enough to excuse myself and hurry back to the
refreshing shade of Major Perdue’s veranda. There I found Aunt Minervy
Ann swinging the baby in a hammock.
“I ’low’d maybe you’d git tired an’ come back, suh; an’ so I des let
dinner sorter simmer whiles I got dish yer baby ter sleep. I dunner how
you all does in Atlanty, but down here we has soon dinner. Dem what
wanter kin have two meals a day, but dem what does sho ’nuff work better
eat three. Me! I want three, whedder I works er not.”
The baby stirred, and Aunt Minervy paused. At that moment a group of men,
wearing badges, passed by, evidently officials of the fair going to
dinner. They were evidently engaged in a very earnest discussion.
“I’m for Conant,” said one, with considerable emphasis.
“Oh, so am I,” assented another. “When Jim told me this morning that he
was a candidate for the Legislature, I told him flat and plain that I was
for Paul Conant.”
“That’s right,” remarked a third. “We want a man there with some business
sense, and Conant’s the man.”
Aunt Minervy Ann laughed. “Ef de Legislatur’ up dar in Atlanty is like it
wuz when I b’long’d ter it, dey can’t drag Marse Paul in dar; no, suh!
dey can’t drag him in dar.”
Amazement must have shown in my face, for Aunt Minervy Ann immediately
became solemn. “Ain’t you never hear tell ’bout my j’inin’ de
Legislatur’? You may look an’ you may laugh, but dat don’t wipe out de
trufe. Dey wuz a time when I jined de Legislatur’ an’ when I b’long’d ter
de gang same ez Hamp did. You don’t ’spute but what Hamp b’long’d ter de
Legislatur’, suh?” asked Aunt Minervy Ann, anxious to make out the title
of her own membership. No, I didn’t dispute Hamp’s credentials. He had
been elected and he had served.
“I know’d you couldn’t ’spute dat, suh,” Aunt Minervy Ann went on,
“’kaze you wuz down dar when dey choosen’d ’im, an’ you wuz dar when dem
ar white folks come mighty nigh ku-kluckin’ ’im; you wuz right dar wid
Marse Tumlin an’ Marse Bolivar. I never is ter fergit dat, suh, ner Hamp
nudder; an’ ef you don’t b’lieve it, you des sen’ us word you want us. Ef
we git de word at midnight we’ll git up, an’ ef de railroad track is tore
up we’ll git a waggin, an’ ef we can’t git a waggin, we’ll walk, but what
we’ll come.”
“Well,” said I, “tell us about your joining the Legislature.”
“I may be long in tellin’ it, suh, but ’tain’t no long tale,” replied
Aunt Minervy Ann. “Atter Hamp come up here an’ tuck his seat—dat what dey
call it den, ef dey don’t call it dat now—well, atter he come up an’ been
here some little time, I tuck notice dat he ’gun ter hol’ his head mighty
high; a little too high fer ter suit me. He want me ter go up dar wid ’im
an’ stay dar, ’kaze he sorter skittish ’bout comin’ home when dem country
boys mought be hangin’ ’roun’ de depot. But I up an’ tol’ ’im flat an’
plain dat I wa’n’t gwine ter leave Miss Vallie an’ let er’ git usen ter
strange niggers. I tol’ ’im he mought go an’ stay ef he want ter, but de
fus’ week he miss comin’ home, I wuz gwine atter ’im, an’ ef I fotch ’im
home he won’t go back in a hurry; I tol’ ’im dat, flat an’ plain.
“Well, suh, he done mighty well; I’ll say dat fer ’im. He want too many
clean shirts an’ collars fer ter suit me, but he say he bleeze ter have
um dar whar he at, an’ I ain’t make no complaint ’bout dat; but I took
notice dat he wuz sorter offish wid Marse Tumlin. Mo’ dan dat, I tuck
notice dat needer Marse Tumlin ner Marse Bolivar so much ez look at ’im
when dey pass ’im by. I know’d by dat dat sump’n wuz up.
“Now, Hamp ain’t had no reg’lar time fer comin’ home. Sometimes he’d come
We’n’sday, an’ den ag’in he’d come Friday. I ax ’im why he ain’t stay de
week out an’ ’ten’ ter his work like he oughter. He say he gettin’ des
much pay when he at home loafin’ ’roun’ ez he do when he up yer. Well,
suh, dat ’stonish me. You know yo’se’f, suh, dat when folks is gittin’
pay fer dat what dey ain’t doin’, dey’s boun’ ter be swindlin’ gwine on
some’rs, ef not wuss, an’ dat what I tol’ ’im. He laugh an’ say dat’s on
account er politics an’ de erpublican party, an’ I make answer dat ef
dat de case, dey er bofe rank an’ rotten; desso.
“We went on fum one thing ter an’er, twel bimeby I ax ’im what dey is
’twixt ’im an’ Marse Tumlin an’ Marse Bolivar. Hamp say dey ain’t nothin’
’ceppin’ dat dey done ax ’im fer ter do sump’n dat ain’t in ’cordance
wid erpublican pencerpuls, an’ he bleeze ter effuse um. Well, suh, dis
kinder riled me. I know’d right pine-blank dat Hamp ain’t know no mo’
’bout erpublican pencerpuls dan I is, an’ I wouldn’t a-know’d um ef I’d a
met um in de road wid der name painted on um; so I ax ’im what erpublican
pencerpuls hender’d ’im fum doin’ what Marse Tumlin ax ’im ter do. He
sot dar an’ hummed an’ haw’d, an’ squirm’d in his cheer, an’ chaw’d on
de een’ er his segyar. I wait long ’nuff, an’ den I ax ’im ag’in. Well,
suh, dat’s been twenty years ago, an’ he ain’t never tol’ me yit what dem
erpublican pencerpuls wuz. I ain’t flingin’ off on um, suh. I ’speck dey
wuz a bairlful er dem erpublican pencerpuls, an’ maybe all good uns, but
I know’d mighty well dat dey ain’t hender dat nigger man fum doin’ what
Marse Tumlin ax ’im ter do.
“So de nex’ chance I git, I up’n ax Marse Tumlin what de matter wuz
’twix’ him an’ Hamp. He say ’twa’n’t nothin’ much, ’cep’ dat Hamp
had done come up here in Atlanta an’ sol’ hisse’f out to a passel er
kyarpit-baggers what ain’t no intruss down here but ter git han’s on all
de money in sight. I say, ‘He may ’a’ gi’ hisse’f ’way, Marse Tumlin, but
he sho’ ain’t sell hisse’f, ’kaze I ain’t seen one er de money.’ Marse
Tumlin ’low, ‘Well, anyhow, it don’t make much diffunce, Minervy Ann. Dem
kyarpit-baggers up dar, dey pat ’im on de back an’ tell ’im he des ez
good ez what dey is. I had de idee, Minervy Ann,’ he say, ‘dat Hamp wuz
lots better dan what dey is, but he ain’t; he des ’bout good ez dey is.’
“Marse Tumlin do like he don’t wanter talk ’bout it, but dat ain’t nigh
satchify me. I say, ‘Marse Tumlin, what did you want Hamp ter do?’ He
drum on de arm er de cheer wid his fingers, an’ sorter study. Den he say,
‘Bein’ it’s all done an’ over wid, I don’t min’ tellin’ you all about it.
Does you know who’s a-runnin’ dis county now?’ I had a kinder idee, but I
say, ‘Who, Marse Tumlin?’ He ’low, ‘Mahlon Botts an’ his br’er Mose; dey
er runnin’ de county, an’ dey er ruinin’ it.’
“Den he ax me ef I know de Bottses. Know um! I’d been a-knowin’ um sence
de year one, an’ dey wuz de ve’y drugs an’ offscourin’s er creation. I
ax Marse Tumlin how come dey ter have holt er de county, an’ he say dey
make out dey wuz good erpublicans, des ter make de niggers vote um in
office—so dey kin make money an’ plunder de county. Den I ax ’im what he
want Hamp ter do. He say all he want Hamp ter do wuz ter he’p ’im git er
whatyoumaycallum—yasser, dat’s it, a bill; dat’s de ve’y word he say—he
want Hamp ter he’p ’im git a bill th’oo de Legislatur’; an’ den he went
on an’ tell me a long rigamarolious ’bout what ’twuz, but I’ll never tell
you in de roun’ worl’.”