"UNC REMUS," asked a tall, awkward-looking negro, who was one of
a crowd surrounding the old man, "w'at's dish 'ere w'at dey calls
de fonygraf--dish yer inst'ument w'at kin holler 'roun' like
little chillun in de back yard?"
"I ain't seed um," said Uncle Remus, feeling in his pocket for a
fresh chew of tobacco. "I ain't seed um, but I year talk un um.
Miss Sally wuz a readin' in de papers las' Chuseday, an' she say
dat's it's a mighty big watchyoumaycollum."
"A mighty big w'ich?" asked one of the crowd.
"A mighty big w'atsizname," answered Uncle Remus, cautiously. "I
wuzzent up dar close to whar Miss Sarah wuz a readin', but I
kinder geddered in dat it wuz one er deze 'ere w'atzisnames w'at
you hollers inter one year an it comes out er de udder. Hit's
mighty funny unter me how dese fokes kin go an' prognosticate der
eckoes inter one er deze yer i'on boxes, an' dar hit'll stay on
twel de man comes long an' tu'ns de handle an' let's de fuss come
pilin' out. Bimeby dey'll git ter makin' sho' nuff fokes, an' den
dere'll be a racket 'roun' here. Dey tells me dat it goes off
like one er deze yer torpedoes."
"You year dat, don't you?" said one or two of the younger
negroes.
"Dat's w'at dey tells me," continued Uncle Remus. "Dat's w'at dey
sez. Hit's one er deze yer kinder w'atzisnames w'at sasses back
w'en you hollers at it."
"W'at dey fix um fer, den?" asked one of the practical negroes.
"Dat's w'at I wanter know," said Uncle Remus, contemplatively.
"But dat's w'at Miss Sally wuz a readin' in de paper. All you
gotter do is ter holler at de box, an' dar's yo' remarks. Dey
goes in, an' dar dey er tooken and dar dey hangs on twel you
shakes de box, an' den dey draps out des ez fresh ez deze yer
fishes w'at you git fum Savannah, an' you ain't got time fer ter
look at dere gills, nudder."