A Jonesboro negro, while waiting for the train to go out, met up
with Uncle Remus. After the usual "time of day" had been passed
between the two, the former inquired about an acquaintance.
"How's Jeems Rober'son?" he asked.
"Ain't you year 'bout Jim?" asked Uncle Remus.
"Dat I ain't," responded the other; "I ain't hear talk er Jem
sence he cut loose fum de chain-gang. Dat w'at make I ax. He
ain't down wid de biliousness, is he?"
"Not dat I knows un," responded Uncle Remus, gravely. "He ain't
sick, an' he ain't bin sick. He des tuck'n say he wuz gwineter
ride dat ar roan mule er Mars John's de udder Sunday, an' de
mule, she up'n do like she got nudder ingagement. I done bin fool
wid dat mule befo', an' I tuck'n tole Jim dat he better not git
tangle up wid 'er; but Jim, he up'n 'low dat he wuz a hoss-
doctor, an' wid dat he ax me fer a chaw terbacker, en den he got
de bridle, en tuck'n kotch de mule en got on her--Well,"
continued Uncle Remus, looking uneasily around, "I speck you
better go git yo' ticket. Dey tells me dish yer train goes a
callyhootin'."
"Hol' on dar, Uncle Remus; you ain't tell me 'bout Jim,"
exclaimed the Jonesboro negro.
"I done tell you all I knows, chile. Jim, he tuck'n light on de
mule, an' de mule she up'n hump 'erse'f, an den dey wuz a
skuffle, an' w'en de dus' blow 'way, dar lay de nigger on de
groun', an' de mule she stood eatin' at de troff wid wunner Jim's
gallusses wrop 'roun' her behime-leg. Den atterwuds, de ker'ner,
he come 'roun', an' he tuck'n gin it out dat Jim died sorter
accidental like. Hit's des like I tell you: de nigger wern't sick
a minnit. So long! Bimeby you won't ketch yo' train. I got ter be
knockin' long."