Era_, of November 10, 1869, show that the measure in question was a local
bill to revive the polling-places in the militia districts of the county
represented by the Hon. Hampton Tumlin, and to regulate elections so that
there could be no repeating. This verification of Aunt Minervy Ann’s
statement was made long ago after she told the story, and purely out of
curiosity. The discussions shed an illuminating light over her narrative,
but it is impossible to reproduce them here, even in brief.]
“He tol’ me dat, suh, an’ den he le’nt back in de cheer, an’ kinder
hummed a chune. An’ me—I stood up dar by de fireplace an’ studied. Right
den an’ dar I made up my min’ ter one thing, an’ I ain’t never change
it, needer; I made up my min’ dat ef we wuz all gwine ter be free an’
live in de same neighborhoods—dat ef we wuz gwine ter do dat, whatsomever
wuz good fer de white folks bleeze ter be good fer de niggers, an’
whatsomever wuz good fer Marse Tumlin an’ Miss Vallie wuz des ez good fer
me an’ Hamp.
“I ’low, ‘Marse Tumlin, when you gwine up dar whar Hamp at?’ He say, ‘Oh,
I dunno; I’m tired er de infernal place,’ desso. Den he look at me right
hard. ‘What make you ax?’ sez he. I ’low, ‘’Kaze ef youer gwine right
soon, I’m gwine wid you.’ He laugh an’ say, ‘What de dickunce you gwine
up dar fer?’ I ’low, ‘I gwine up dar fer ter jine de Legislatur’. I ain’t
here tell dat dem what jines hatter be baptize in runnin’ water, an’ ef
dey ain’t, den I’ll jine long wid Hamp.’ Marse Tumlin say, ‘You reckin
Hamp would be glad fer to see you, Minervy Ann?’ I ’low, ‘He better had
be, ef he know what good fer ’im.’ Marse Tumlin say, ‘Ef I wuz you,
Minervy Ann, I wouldn’t go up dar spyin’ atter Hamp. He’ll like you none
de better fer it. De las’ time I wuz up dar, Hamp wuz havin’ a mighty
good time. Ef you know what’s good fer you, Minervy Ann, you won’t go up
dar a-doggin’ atter Hamp.’
“Well, suh, right at dat time I had de idee dat Marse Tumlin wuz prankin’
an’ projeckin’; you know how he runs on; but he wa’n’t no mo’ prankin’
dan what I am right now. (Nummine! I’ll git back ter Hamp terreckly.)
I laugh an’ say, ‘I ain’t gwine ter dog atter Hamp, Marse Tumlin; I
des wanter go up dar an’ see how he gittin’ on, an’ fin’ out how folks
does when dey sets up dar in de Legislatur’. An’ ef you’ll put dat ar
whatshisname—bill; dat’s right, suh; bill wuz de word—ef you’ll put dat
ar bill in yo’ pocket, I’ll see what Hamp kin do wid it.’ Marse Tumlin
’low, ‘’Tain’t no use fer ter see Hamp, Minervy Ann. He done tol’ me he
can’t do nothin’. I lef’ de bill wid ’im.’
“I say, ‘Marse Tumlin, you dunner nothin’ ’tall ’bout Hamp. He must er
change mighty sence dey ’fo’ yistidy if he erfuse ter do what I tell ’im
ter do. Ef dat de case, I’ll go up dar an’ frail ’im out an’ come on back
home an’ ten’ ter my work.’
“Marse Tumlin look at me wid his eyes half shot an’ kinder laugh way down
in his stomach. He ’low, ‘Minervy Ann, I been livin’ a long time, an’ I
been knowin’ a heap er folks, but you er de bangin’est nigger I ever is
see. Free ez you is, I wouldn’t take two thousan’ dollars fer you, cash
money. I’ll git Bolivar, an’ we’ll go up dar on de mornin’ train. Vallie
kin stay wid er aunt. ’Tain’t gwine ter hurt you ter go; I want you ter
see some things fer yo’se’f.’
“Well, suh, sho’ ’nuff, de nex’ mornin’ me an’ Marse Tumlin an’ Marse
Bolivar, we got on de train, an’ put out, an’ ’twa’n’t long ’fo’ we wuz
pullin’ in under de kyar-shed. Dat ’uz de fus’ time I ever is been ter
dis town, an’ de racket an’ de turmoil kinder tarrify me, but when I see
’t’er folks gwine ’long ’tendin’ ter der bizness, ’twa’n’t no time ’fo’ I
tuck heart, ’kaze dar wuz Marse Tumlin an’ Marse Bolivar right at me, an’
dey wuz bowin’ an’ shakin’ han’s wid mos’ eve’ybody dat come ’long. Dey
wuz two mighty pop’lous white men, suh; you know dat yo’se’f.
“I ’speck de train must ’a’ got in ’fo’ de Legislatur’ sot down, ’kaze
when we went th’oo a narrer street an’ turn inter de one what dey call
Decatur, whar dey carry on all de devilment, I hear Marse Tumlin say dat
we wuz ’bout a hour too soon. Right atter dat Marse Bolivar say, ‘Tumlin,
dat ar nigger man ’cross dar wid de gals is got a mighty familious look
ter me; I done been seed ’im somewhar, sho’.’ Marse Tumlin say, ‘Dat’s
a fac’; I used ter know dat man some’rs.’ Well, suh, I lookt de way dey
wuz a-lookin’, an’ dar wuz Hamp! Yassar! Hamp! Hamp an’ two mulatter
gals. An’ I wish you could ’a’ seed um; I des wish you could! Dar wuz
Hamp all diked out in his Sunday cloze which I tol’ ’im p’intedly not
ter w’ar while he workin’ in de Legislatur’. He had a segyar in his mouf
mos’ ez big an’ ez long ez a waggin-spoke, an’ dar he wuz a-bowin’ an’
scrapin’, an’ scrapin’ an’ gigglin’, an’ de mulatter gals wuz gigglin’
an’ snickerin’ an’ squealin’—I _declaire_, Mr. Tumlin! you oughter be
_’shame_ er yo’se’f; oh, youer too _b-a-a-a-d_!’”
With powers of mimicry unequalled, Aunt Minervy Ann illustrated the
bowing and scraping of Hamp, and reproduced the shrill but not unmusical
voices of the mulatto girls.
“I tell you de trufe, suh, whiles you could count ten you might ’a’ pusht
me over wid a straw, an’ den, suh, my dander ’gun ter rise. I must ’a’
show’d it in my looks, ’kaze Marse Tumlin laid his han’ on my shoulder
an’ say, ‘Don’t kick up no racket, Minervy Ann; you got Hamp right whar
you want ’im. You know what we come fer.’ Well, suh, I hatter stan’ dar
an’ swaller right hard a time er two, ’kaze I ain’t got no use fer
mulatters; to make um, you got ter spile good white blood an’ good nigger
blood, an’ when dey er made dey got in um all dat’s mean an’ low down
on bofe sides, an’ ef dey yever is ter be saved, dey’ll all hatter be
baptize twice han’ runnin’—once fer de white dat’s in um, and once fer de
black. De Bible mayn’t sesso, but common-sense’ll tell you dat much.
“Well, suh, I stood dar some little time watchin’ Hamp’s motions, an’ he
wuz makin’ sech a big fool er hisse’f dat I des come mighty nigh laughin’
out loud, but all dat time Marse Tumlin had de idee dat I wuz mad, an’
when I start to’rds Hamp, wid my pairsol grabbed in de middle, he ’low,
‘Min’ yo’ eye, Minervy Ann.’ I walk up, I did, an’ punch Hamp in de back
wid de pairsol. Ef I’d ’a’ hit ’im on de head wid a pile-driver, he
couldn’t ’a’ been mo’ dum’founder’d. He look like he wuz gwine th’oo’ de
sidewalk. I say, ‘When you git time, I’d like ter have a little chat wid
you.’ He ’low, ‘Why, why’—an’ wid dat he stuck de lit een’ er his segyar
in his mouf. Well, suh, you may b’lieve you done seed splutterin’ an’
splatterin’, but you ain’t never seed none like dat. He made a motion,
Hamp did, like he wanter make me ’painted wid de mulatter gals, but I
say, ‘When you git time fum yo’ Legislatur’, I got a sesso fer you ter
hear.’
“Wid dat, suh, I turn ’roun’ an’ cross de street an’ foller on atter
Marse Tumlin an’ Marse Bolivar. I ain’t mo’n git ’cross, ’fo’ here come
Hamp. He ’low, ‘Why, honey, whyn’t you tell me you wuz comin’? When’d you
come?’ I say, ‘Oh, I’m _honey_, is I? Well, maybe you’ll fin’ a bee in de
comb.’ He ’low, ‘Whyn’t you tell me you wuz comin’ so I kin meet you at
de train?’ I say, ‘I wanter see what kinder fambly you got in dis town.
An’ I seed it! I seed it!’
“Well, suh, I ’speck I’d ’a’ got mad ag’in, but ’bout dat time we cotch
up wid Marse Tumlin an’ Marse Bolivar. Marse Tumlin turn ’roun’, he did,
an’ holler out, ‘Well, ef here ain’t Minervy Ann! What you doin’ up here,
an’ how did you lef’ yo’ Miss Vallie?’ He shuck han’s des like he ain’t
see me befo’ in a mont’, an’ Marse Bolivar done de same. I humor’d um,
suh, but I ain’t know what dey wuz up ter fer long atterwards. Dey don’t
want Hamp ter know dat I come ’long wid um. Den dey went on, an’ me an’
Hamp went ter whar he stay at.
“When I got ’im off by hisse’f, suh, he sot in ter tellin’ me how come
’im ter be wid dem ar gals, an’ he want me ter know um, an’ he know
mighty well I’d like um—you know how men-folks does, suh. But dey
wa’n’t na’er minit in no day dat yever broke when Hamp kin fool me,
an’ he know’d it. But I let ’im run on. Bimeby, when he get tired er
splanifyin’, I ’low, ‘What dat paper what Marse Tumlin ax you ter put in
de Legislatur’?’ He say, ‘How you know ’bout dat?’ I ’low, ‘I hear Marse
Tumlin tellin’ Miss Vallie ’bout it, an’ I hear Miss Vallie wonder an’
wonder what de matter wid you.’
“I fotch Miss Vallie in, suh, bekaze Hamp think dey ain’t nobody in de
worl’ like Miss Vallie. One time, des ’fo’ de big turmoil, when Marse
Tumlin hire Hamp fum de Myrick ’state, he fell sick, an’ Miss Vallie (she
wa’n’t nothin’ but a school-gal den) she got sorry fer ’im ’kaze he wuz
a hired nigger, an’ she’d fill a basket wid things fum de white folks’
table an’ tote um to ’im. Mo’ dan dat, she’d set dar whiles he’s eatin’
an’ ax ’bout his folks. Atter dat, suh, de groun’ whar Miss Vallie walk
wuz better’n any yuther groun’ ter Hamp. So when I call her name up, Hamp
ain’t say nothin’ fer long time.
“Den he shuck his head an’ say dey ain’t no use talkin’, he des can’t
put dat ar paper in de Legislatur’. He say ef he wuz ter, ’twon’t do no
good, ’kaze all de erpublicans would jump on it, an’ den dey’d jump on
him ter boot. I ’low, ‘Whar you reckon I’ll be whiles all dat jumpin’
gwine on?’ He say, ‘You’ll be on de outside, an’ ef you wuz on de inside,
dey’d hike you out.’ ‘An’ who’d do de hikin’?’ sez I. ‘De surgeon er de
armies,’ sez he. ‘White er black?’ sez I. ‘Yaller,’ sez Hamp. I ’low,
‘Good ’nuff; we’ll see which un’ll be hiked.’ An’ I told Hamp right den
an’ dar, dat ef he erfuse ter put dat paper in, I’ll do it myse’f.
“Well, suh, whiles we settin’ dar talkin’, dey come a-rappin’ at de do’
an’ in walk a big bushy-head mulatter, an’ I ain’t tellin’ you no lie, he
de mos’ venomous-lookin’ creetur you ever laid yo’ eyes on. His ha’r wuz
all spread out like a scourin’ mop, an’ he had a grin on ’im ez big ez
dat gate dar. Hamp call ’im Arion Alperiar Ridley.”
At this point I was compelled to come to the rescue of Aunt Minervy
Ann’s memory. The stateman’s real name was Aaron Alpeora Bradley, and
he was one of the most corrupt creatures of that corrupt era. He had a
superficial education that only added to the density of his ignorance,
but it gave him considerable influence with the negro members of the
Legislature. Aunt Minervy Ann accepted the correction with alacrity.
“I fergot his name, suh, but I ain’t never fergit him. He so mean-lookin’
he make de col’ chills run over me. He wuz a low-country mulatter, an’
you know how dey talk. Eve’y time he look at me, he’d bow, an’ de mo’ he
bowed de mo’ I ’spized ’im. He call Hamp ‘Mistooah Tummalin,’ an’ eve’y
time he say sump’n’, he’d gi’ one er dem venomous grins. I declar’ ter
gracious, suh, I oughtn’t ter talk ’bout dat man dis way, but de way he
look wuz scan’lous. I done fergive ’im for dat long time ’go on ’count er
what he done; but when I hear white folks ’busin’ ’im in dat day an’ time
I know’d dey had mighty good groun’, bekaze dey ain’t no human kin look
like dat man an’ not be mean at bottom.
“Well, suh, Hamp, he up’n tol’ dis yer Alpory er Alpiry (whatsomever his
name mought be) what I come ter town fer, an’ Alpory, he say, ‘Mistooah
Tummalin, you kyarn’t do it. Hit would-er ruin you in de-er party, suh—er
ruin you.’ I kinder fired up at dat. I ’low, ‘How come he can’t do it?
Ain’t he free?’ Ol’ Alpory, he grin an’ he talk, he talk an’ he grin, but
he ain’t budge me. At de offstart I say ef Hamp don’t put dat paper in
de Legislatur’, I’ll put it in myse’f, an’ at de windin’ up I still say
dat ef he don’t put Marse Tumlin’s paper in de Legislatur’, den I’ll be
de one ter do it. Ol’ Alpory say, ‘You-er is got no marster, ma’am.’ Den
I snapt ’im up an’ cut ’im off short; I say, ‘I got one ef I want one.
Ain’t I free?’ Den he went on wid a whole passel er stuff dat I can’t
make head er tail un, ner him needer, fer dat matter, twel bimeby I say,
‘Oh, hush up an’ go on whar you gwine.’
“Hamp look so broke up at dis dat I wuz kinder sorry I say it, but dat’s
de only way ter deal wid dem kind er folks, suh. Ol’ Alpory wuz des
famishin’, suh, fer some un ter b’lieve he’s a big Ike; dat ’uz all de
matter wid ’im an’ I know’d it. So he quit his jawin’ when I snapped ’im
up, an’ he sot dar some time lookin’ like a cow does when her cud don’t
rise. Bimeby he ax Hamp fer ter let ’im see de paper what I want ’im ter
put in de Legislatur’. He tuck it, he did, an’ look at it sideways an’
upside down, an’ eve’ywhichaway. Ez ef dat wa’n’t ’nuff, he took off his
goggles an’ wiped um an’ put um on ag’in, an’ read de paper all over
ag’in, noddin’ his head an’ movin’ his mouf, an’ grinnin’.
“Atter he got th’oo, he fol’ de paper up an’ han’ it back ter Hamp. He
say he can’t see no harm in it ter save his life, an’ he ’low dat ef
Hamp’ll put it in at one een’ er de Legislatur’, he’ll put it in at de
t’er een’. Dey call one part a house, but nobody ain’t never tell me why
dey call a wranglin’ gang er men a house. Dey des might ez well call um a
hoss an’ buggy; eve’y bit an’ grain. Well, suh, de house wuz de part what
Hamp b’longs ter, an’ de ’t’er part wuz whar ol’ Alpory b’long’d at, an’
by de time dey wuz ready fer ter set in dar dey had e’en ’bout ’greed fer
put de paper in at bofe een’s.
“I went ’long wid Hamp, suh, an’ he show’d me de way ter de gall’ry, an’
I sot up dar an’ look down on um, an’ wonder why all un um, white an’
black, wa’n’t at home yearnin’ der livin’ ’stidder bein’ in dat place
a-wranglin’ an’ callin’ names, an’ howlin’ an’ wavin’ der arms an’ han’s.
Dey wuz a big fat white man settin’ up in de pulpit, an’ he kep’ on
a-maulin’ it wid a mallet. I dunner what his name wuz, but I hear one big
buck nigger call ’im Mr. Cheer. Marse Tumlin tol’ me atterwards dat de
man wuz de speaker, but all de res’ done lots mo’ speakin’ dan what he
did; all un um ’cep’ Hamp.
“Yasser; all un um ’cep’ Hamp, an’ he sot dar so still dat ’twa’n’t long
’fo’ I ’gun ter git shame un him. He sot dar an’ fumble wid some papers,
an’ helt his head down, an’ look like he skeer’d. I watch ’im, suh, twel
I got so res’less in de min’ I can’t set still. Bimeby I got up an’ went
down ter de front do’; I wuz gwine ter make my way in dar whar Hamp wuz
at, an’ kinder fetch ’im out’n his dreams, ef so be he wuz dreamin’. An’
I’d a gone in, but a nigger man at de do’ barred de way. He say, ‘Who you
want ter see?’ I ’low, ‘I wanter see Hamp Tumlin, dat’s who.’ He say,
‘Does you mean de Honnerbul Hampton Tumlin?’ I ’low, ‘Yes, I does ef you
wanter put it dat away. _Go in dar an’ tell ’im dat de Honnerbul Minervy
Ann Perdue is out here waitin’ fer ’im, an’ he better come quick ef he
know what good fer ’im._’
“Wid dat, suh, I hear somebody laugh, an’ look up an’ dar wuz Marse
Tumlin standin’ not fur fum de do’ talkin’ wid an’er white man. He ’low,
‘Scott, dis is Minervy Ann. She got mo’ sense an’ grit dan half de white
folks you meet.’ Well, suh, de man come up, he did, an’ shuck han’s an’
say he mighty glad ter see me. I never is ter fergit his name on ’count
er what happen afterwards. ’Bout dat time Hamp come out an’ Marse Tumlin
an’ de ’t’er man draw’d off up de hall.
“I say, ‘Hamp, why in de name er goodness ain’t you ’ten’ ter yo’
bizness? What you waitin’ fer? Is you skeer’d?’ He vow an’ declair’ dat
he des waitin’ a chance fer ter put de paper in. I tol’ ’im dat de way
ter git a chance wuz ter make one, an’ wid dat he went on in, an’ I went
back in de gall’ry. Well, suh, ’twa’n’t long ’fo’ Hamp put in de paper.
A man at de foot er de pulpit read it off, an’ den a white man settin’
not fur fum Hamp jump up an’ say he want sump’n done wid it, I dunner
what. Hamp say sump’n back at ’im, an’ den de white man say he sorry fer
ter see de honnerbul gemman gwine back on de erpublican party. Den Mose
Bently—I know’d Mose mighty well—he riz an’ say ef de erpublican party
is got ter be led ’roun’ by men like de one what des tuck his seat, it’s
high time fer honest folks ter turn der backs on it.
“Well, suh, when Mose say dat, I clap my han’s, I did, an’ holla ‘Good!
good! now you got it!’ I couldn’t he’p it fer ter save my life. De man
in de pulpit maul de planks wid de mallet like he tryin’ ter split um,
an’ he ’low dat ef folks in de gall’ry don’t keep still, he’ll have um
cle’r’d out. I holla back at ’im, ‘You better some er dat gang down dar
cle’r’d out!’ Quick ez a flash, suh, dat ar Mr. Scott what been talkin’
wid Marse Tumlin jump up an’ ’low, ‘I secon’s de motion!’ De man in de
pulpit say, ‘What motion does de gemman fum Floyd secon’?’ Den Mr. Scott
fling his head back an’ low, ‘De Honnerbul Minervy Ann Perdue done move
dat de flo’ be cle’r’d ’stidder de gall’ry. I secon’s de motion.’
“Den fum dat he went on an’ ’buze de erpublican party, speshually dat ar
man what had de ’spute wid Hamp. Mr. Scott say dey got so little sense
dat dey go ag’in a paper put in by one er der own party. He say he ain’t
keer nothin’ ’tall ’bout de paper hisse’f, but he des wanter show um up
fer what dey wuz.
“He totch’d um, suh, ez you may say, on de raw, an’ when he git th’oo
he say, ‘Now, I hope de cheer will deal wid de motion of de Honnerbul
Minervy Ann Perdue.’ Mr. Scott say, ‘She settin’ up dar in de gall’ry an’
she got des ez much right ter set on dis flo’ ez nineteen out er twenty
er dem settin’ here.’ De man in de pulpit look at me right hard, an’ den
he ’gun ter laugh. I say, ‘You nee’n ter worry yo’se’f ’bout me. You
better ’ten’ ter dem ar half-drunk niggers an’ po’ white trash down dar.
I wouldn’t set wid ’em ef I never did fin’ a place fer ter set at.’
“Wid dat, suh, I pickt up my pairsol an’ make my way out, but ez I went I
hear um whoopin’ an’ hollerin’.”
“Well, they didn’t pass the bill, did they?” I asked.
“What? dat paper er Marse Tumlin’s? Bless yo’ soul, suh, dey run’d over
one an’er tryin’ ter pass it. Mr. Scott fit it like he fightin’ fire,
an’ make out he wuz terribly ag’in it, but dat des make um wuss. Hamp
say dat inginer’lly dem ar laws has ter wait an’ hang fire; but dey tuck
up dat un, an’ shove it th’oo. Dey tuck mo’ time in de ’t’er een’ er de
Legislatur’, whar ol’ Alpory wuz at, but it went th’oo when it start.
I hope dey don’t have no sech gwines-on now, suh. Ef dey does de whole
county can’t drag Paul Conant in dar. I’ll jine um myse’f, ’fo’ I’ll let
’im git in dat kind er crowd.”
V
HOW SHE WENT INTO BUSINESS
Aunt Minervy Ann’s picturesque reminiscences were sufficiently amusing
to whet my appetite for more. The county fair, which was the occasion of
my visit to Halcyondale, was still dragging its slow length along, but
it had lost its interest for me. The displays in the various departments
were as attractive as ever to those who saw them for the first time,
but it seemed to me that all my old acquaintances, or their wives and
daughters, had something on exhibition, and nothing must do but I must
go around and admire it. A little of this goes far, and, as I had been
through the various departments a dozen times over, I concluded that it
would be more comfortable to remain away from the grounds altogether,
making more room for those who desired to see the judges deliver the
prizes, or who were anxious to witness the trotting matches and running
races.
Therefore, when Major Tumlin Perdue (whose guest I was) and his
daughter, Mrs. Conant, made an early start for the fair grounds, on the
fourth day, I excused myself, on the plea of having some letters to
write. The excuse was readily accepted, especially by Major Perdue, who
expressed a very strong hope that I would do the fair justice in the
Atlanta newspapers.
“If you can put in a word about Paul Conant, I’d be glad if you’d do it,”
the Major added. “He’s come mighty near working himself down to get the
blamed thing a-going. If it wasn’t on account of Paul, me and Valentine
wouldn’t go any closer to the fair grounds than we are right now. But we
think maybe we can help Paul, and if we can’t do that, we hope to keep
him from running his legs off. He ain’t well a bit. Vallie says he didn’t
sleep more than two hours last night for the pains in his shoulder.”
“It seems to be an old trouble,” I suggested.
“Yes, it’s an old trouble,” replied the Major. Then he looked over the
tree-tops and sighed.
Here was the same air of mystery that I had observed when I first came,
and I remembered that Aunt Minervy Ann had begun to tell me about it when
she became entangled in her reminiscences. Therefore, when they were
all gone, and Aunt Minervy Ann had cleaned up the house and coaxed the
Conant baby to sleep (which was no hard thing to do, he was such a fat
and good-humored little rascal), I ventured to remind the old negress
that she had neglected to tell me why the Major and his daughter were so
mysteriously solicitous about Paul Conant’s shoulder.
“Well, de goodness knows!” Aunt Minervy Ann exclaimed, with well-affected
surprise; “ain’t I done tell you ’bout dat? I sho’ wuz dreamin’, den,
bekaze I had it right on de tip-eend er my tongue. I dunno what got de
matter wid me deze days, less’n I’m gettin’ ol’ an’ light-headed. Well,
suh! an’ I ain’t tol’ you ’bout dat!”
She paused, as if reflecting, but continued to rock the baby’s cradle
gently, moving it slower and slower, until, finally, she ceased to move
it altogether. The baby merely gave a self-satisfied sigh, and settled
into the profound and healthy sleep of infancy. Then Aunt Minervy Ann
went out on the back porch, and seated herself on the top step. I
followed, and found the rocking-chair I had occupied on a former occasion.
“I’ll set here, suh, twel Hamp gits back wid de carriage, an’ den I’ll
see ’bout gittin’ dinner, an’ he better make ’as’e, too, bekaze I ain’t
got no time ter set here an’ lis’n at dat baby, whiles he projickin’ out
dar at dem grounds. I kin wait, suh, but I can’t wait all day.”
“Major Perdue said that Mr. Conant’s shoulder was very painful last
night,” I suggested.
“Dat what Miss Vallie say, suh. She say dey wuz up an’ down wid ’im
mighty nigh all night long. I don’t blame um, suh, but, dey ain’t no
use talkin’, grown folks kin be waited on twey dey er sp’iled same ez
chilluns. I’d cut my tongue out, suh, ’fo’ I’d say it ter anybody else,
but I done got ter b’lievin’ dat Marse Paul Conant grunts an’ groans many
a time des bekaze he wants somebody fer ter worry wid ’im an’ honey ’im
up. I may be doin’ ’im wrong, suh, but I done get a sneakin’ notion dat
he’s one er deze yer kinder men-folks what likes to be much’d an’ petted.
An’ dey’ll do it, suh—dey’ll much ’im night er day, hot er col’. Des let
’im say, ‘Oh, my shoulder!’ an’ bofe un um’ll try ter outdo de udder in
takin’ keer un ’im.
[Illustration: “Oh, my shoulder!”]
“Marse Tumlin is got mo’ ways like a ’oman dan any man I ever is laid
eyes on. It’s de Lord’s trufe. He ain’t fussy like de common run er
wimmen, but his han’ is des ez light an’ his heart des ez saft ez any
’oman dat ever breave de breff er life, let er breave whence an’ whar she
mought. I look at ’im sometimes, an’ I des nat’ally tease myse’f ter
know how dat man kin stan’ up an’ shoot anybody like I done see ’im do.
Hit’s de same way wid Marse Bolivar Blasengame—you know him, I spec. Dey
married sisters, suh, an’ dey allers been monstus thick. Dem two wuz big
dogs ’roun’ here, suh, ’fo’ de war. Ef you ain’t never seed um in dem
days, you never is ter know how folks looked up to um an’ give way to um.
“But dey ain’t put on no airs, suh. Dey des do like de quality all do.
’Tain’t money dat makes de quality; hit’s dat ar kinder breedin’ what’ll
make de finest folks stop an’ shake han’s wid a nigger des ez quick ez
dey would wid de king er Rooshy—ef dey got any king dar. Long ’fo’ de
turmoil, suh, endurin’ er de farmin’ days, ’twuz des dat-a-way. When he
’uz at his richest, Marse Tumlin never did pass a nigger on de road, no
matter how lonesome an’ ragged he look, widout stoppin’ an’ axin’ who he
b’long ter, an’ what he name, an’ how he gittin’ on. An’ he allers gi’ um
sump’n, maybe a piece er terbacker, er maybe a thrip. I know, suh; I done
hear my color talk, an’ dey talks it down ter dis ve’y day. Dey ain’t
never been a time in dat man’s life when he ain’t think mo’ er somebody
else dan what he think er hisse’f. Dat’s what I call de quality, suh.
’Tain’t money; ’tain’t land; ’tain’t fine duds; ’tain’t nothin’ ’tall
like dat. I tell you, suh, dem what want ter be de quality is got ter
have a long line er big graveyards behime um, an’ dem graveyards is
got ter be full er folks what use ter know how ter treat yuther folks.
Well, suh, Marse Tumlin is got um behime him, an’ dey retch fum here ter
Ferginny an’ furder. An’ on dat account, he ain’t ’shame’ to show nobody
dat he love um, an’ he ain’t afear’d ter tell nobody dat he hate um.