WHEN Uncle Remus put in an appearance one morning recently,
his friends knew he had been in trouble. He had a red cotton
handkerchief tied under his chin, and the genial humor that
usually makes his aged face its dwelling-place had given way to
an expression of grim melancholy. The young men about the office
were inclined to chaff him, but his look of sullen resignation
remained unchanged.
"What revival did you attend last night?" inquired one.
"What was the color of the mule that did the hammering?" asked
another.
"I always told the old man that a suburban chicken coop would
fall on him," remarked some one.
"A strange pig has been squealing in his ear," suggested some one
else.
But Uncle Remus remained impassive. He seemed to have lost all
interest in what was going on around him, and he sighed heavily
as he seated himself on the edge of the trash-box in front of the
office. Finally some one asked, in a sympathetic tone:
"What is the matter, old man? You look like you'd been through
the mill."
"Now you 'er knockin'. I ain't bin thoo de mill sence day 'fo'
yistiddy, den dey ain't no mills in de lan'. Ef wunner deze yer
scurshun trains had runned over me I couldn't er bin wuss off. I
bin trompin' 'roun' in de lowgroun's now gwine on seventy-fi'
year, but I ain't see no sich times ez dat w'at I done spe'unst
now. Boss, is enny er you all ever rastled wid de toofache?"
"Oh, hundreds of times! The toothache isn't anything."
"Den you des played 'roun' de aidges. You ain't had de kine w'at
kotch me on de underjaw. You mout a had a gum-bile, but you
ain't bin boddered wid de toofache. I wuz settin' up talkin' wid
my ole 'oman, kinder puzzlin' 'roun' fer ter see whar de nex'
meal's vittles wuz a gwineter cum fum, an' I feel a little ache
sorter crawlin' 'long on my jaw-bone, kinder feelin' his way. But
de ache don't stay long. He sorter hankered 'roun' like, en den
crope back whar he come fum. Bimeby I feel 'im comin' agin, an'
dis time hit look like he come up closer--kinder skummishin'
'roun' fer ter see how de lan' lay. Den he went off. Present'y I
feel 'im comin', an' dis time hit look like he kyar'd de news
unto Mary, fer hit feel like der wuz anudder wun wid 'im. Dey
crep' up an' crep' 'roun', an, den dey crope off. Bimeby dey come
back, an' dis time dey come like dey wuzzent 'fear'd er de
s'roundin's, fer dey trot right up unto de toof, sorter 'zamine
it like, an' den trot all roun' it, like deze yer circuous
hosses. I sot dar mighty ca'm, but I 'spected dat sump'n' wuz
gwine ter happ'n."
"And it happened, did it?" asked some one in the group
surrounding the old man.
"Boss, don't you fergit it," responded Uncle Remus, fervidly.
"W'en dem aches gallop back dey galloped fer ter stay, an' dey
wuz so mixed up dat I couldn't tell one fum de udder. All night
long dey racked an' dey galloped, an' w'en dey got tired er
rackin' an' gallopin', dey all close in on de ole toof an'
thumped it an' gouged at it twel it 'peared unto me dat dey had
got de jaw-bone loosened up, an' wuz tryin' fer ter fetch it up
thoo de top er my head an' out at der back er my neck. An' dey
got wuss nex' day. Mars John, he seed I wuz 'stracted, an' he
tole me fer ter go roun' yere an' git sump'n' put on it, an' de
drug man he 'lowed dat I better have 'er draw'd, an' his wuds
wuzzent more'n col' 'fo' wunner deze yer watchyoumaycollums--
wunner deze dentis' mens--had retched fer it wid a pa'r er tongs
w'at don't tu'n loose w'en dey ketches a holt. Leas'ways dey
didn't wid me. You oughter seed dat toof, boss. Hit wuz wunner
deze yer fo'-prong fellers. Ef she'd a grow'd wrong eend out'ard,
I'd a bin a bad nigger long arter I jin'd de chu'ch. You year'd
my ho'n!"