“How’d de dogs git ’em dah?”
“Mebbe it mout ’a’ been cats.”
“Why didn’t dey git dat un?”
“Why, why—’ca’se—’ca’se—Oh, don’t questun me, man. I want you to know dat
I’s a honer’ble man.”
“Jabez Holly,” said the minister, impressively, “don’t lie hyeah in de
sanctua’y. I see ’possum grease on yo’ mouf.”
Jabez unconsciously gave his lips a wipe with his sleeve. “On my mouf, on
my mouf!” he exclaimed. “Don’t you say you see no ’possum grease on my
mouf! I mek you prove it. I’s a honer’ble man, I is. Don’t you ’cuse me
of nuffin’!”
Murmurs had begun to arise from the crowd, and they had begun to press in
upon the accused.
“Don’t crowd me!” he cried, his eyes bulging, for he saw in the faces
about him the energy of attack which should have been directed against
the ’possum all turned upon him. “I didn’t eat yo’ ol’ ’possum, I do’ lak
’possum nohow.”
“Hang him,” said some one, and the murmur rose louder as the culprit
began to be hustled. But the preacher’s voice rose above the storm.
“Ca’m yo’se’ves, my brethren,” he said; “let us thank de Lawd dat
one ’possum remains unto us. Brothah Holly has been put undah a gret
temptation, an’ we believe dat he has fell; but it is a jedgment. I ought
to knowed bettah dan to ’a’ trusted any colo’ed man wif fo’ ’possums. Let
us not be ha’d upon de sinnah. We mus’ not be violent, but I tu’ns dis
assembly into a chu’ch meetin’ of de brothahs to set on Brothah Holly’s
case. In de mean time de sistahs will prepah de remainin’ ’possum.”
The church-meeting promptly found Brother Holly guilty of having betrayed
his trust, and expelled him in disgrace from fellowship with Mt. Pisgah
church.
The excellence of the one ’possum which the women prepared only fed their
angry feelings, as it suggested what the whole four would have been; but
the hungry men, women, and children who had foregone their Christmas
dinners at home ate as cheerfully as possible, and when Mt. Pisgah’s
congregation went home that day, salt pork was in great demand to fill
out the void left by the meagre fare of Christmas ’possum.
A FAMILY FEUD
A FAMILY FEUD
I wish I could tell you the story as I heard it from the lips of the old
black woman as she sat bobbing her turbaned head to and fro with the
motion of her creaky little rocking-chair, and droning the tale forth in
the mellow voice of her race. So much of the charm of the story was in
that voice, which even the cares of age had not hardened.
[Illustration: OLD AUNT DOSHY.]
It was a sunny afternoon in late November, one of those days that come
like a backward glance from a reluctantly departing summer. I had taken
advantage of the warmth and brightness to go up and sit with old Aunt
Doshy on the little porch that fronted her cottage. The old woman had
been a trusted house-servant in one of the wealthiest of the old Kentucky
families, and a visit to her never failed to elicit some reminiscence of
the interesting past. Aunt Doshy was inordinately proud of her family, as
she designated the Venables, and was never weary of detailing accounts
of their grandeur and generosity. What if some of the harshness of
reality was softened by the distance through which she looked back upon
them; what if the glamour of memory did put a halo round the heads of
some people who were never meant to be canonised? It was all plain fact
to Aunt Doshy, and it was good to hear her talk. That day she began:—
“I reckon I hain’t never tol’ you ’bout ole Mas’ an’ young Mas’ fallin’
out, has I? Hit’s all over now, an’ things is done change so dat I reckon
eben ef ole Mas’ was libin’, he wouldn’t keer ef I tol’, an’ I knows
young Mas’ Tho’nton wouldn’t. Dey ain’t nuffin’ to hide ’bout it nohow,
’ca’se all quality families has de same kin’ o’ ’spectable fusses.
“Hit all happened ’long o’ dem Jamiesons whut libed jinin’ places to our
people, an’ whut ole Mas’ ain’t spoke to fu’ nigh onto thutty years. Long
while ago, when Mas’ Tom Jamieson an’ Mas’ Jack Venable was bofe young
mans, dey had a qua’l ’bout de young lady dey bofe was a-cou’tin’, an’
by-an’-by dey had a du’l an’ Mas’ Jamieson shot Mas’ Jack in de shouldah,
but Mas’ Jack ma’ied de lady, so dey was eben. Mas’ Jamieson ma’ied too,
an’ after so many years dey was bofe wid’ers, but dey ain’t fu’give one
another yit. When Mas’ Tho’nton was big enough to run erroun’, ole Mas’
used to try to ’press on him dat a Venable mus’n’ never put his foot on
de Jamieson lan’; an’ many a tongue-lashin’ an’ sometimes wuss de han’s
on our place got fu’ mixin’ wif de Jamieson servants. But, la! young Mas’
Tho’nton was wuss’n de niggers. Evah time he got a chance he was out an’
gone, over lots an’ fiel’s an’ into de Jamieson ya’d a-playin’ wif little
Miss Nellie, whut was Mas’ Tom’s little gal. I never did see two chillun
so ’tached to one another. Dey used to wander erroun’, han’ in han’, lak
brother an’ sister, an’ dey’d cry lak dey little hea’ts ’u’d brek ef
either one of dey pappys seed ’em an’ pa’ted ’em.
“I ’member once when de young Mastah was erbout eight year ole, he was
a-settin’ at de table one mo’nin’ eatin’ wif his pappy, when all of er
sudden he pause an’ say, jes’ ez solerm-lak, ‘When I gits big, I gwine to
ma’y Nellie.’ His pappy jump lak he was shot, an’ tu’n right pale, den
he say kin’ o’ slow an’ gaspy-lak, ‘Don’t evah let me hyeah you say sich
a thing ergin, Tho’nton Venable. Why, boy, I’d raver let evah drap o’
blood outen you, dan to see a Venable cross his blood wif a Jamieson.’
“I was jes’ a-bringin’ in de cakes whut Mastah was pow’ful fon’ of, an’
I could see bofe dey faces. But, la! honey, dat chile didn’t look a bit
skeered. He jes’ sot dah lookin’ in his pappy’s face,—he was de spittin’
image of him, all ’cept his eyes, dey was his mother’s,—den he say, ‘Why,
Nellie’s nice,’ an’ went on eatin’ a aig. His pappy laid his napkin down
an’ got up an’ went erway f’om de table. Mas’ Tho’nton say, ‘Why, father
didn’t eat his cakes.’ ‘I reckon yo’ pa ain’t well,’ says I, fu’ I knowed
de chile was innercent.
“Well, after dat day, ole Mas’ tuk extry pains to keep de chillun
apa’t—but ’twa’n’t no use. ’Tain’t never no use in a case lak dat. Dey
jes’ would be together, an’ ez de boy got older, it seemed to grieve
his pappy mighty. I reckon he didn’t lak to jes’ fu’bid him seein’ Miss
Nellie, fu’ he know how haidstrong Mas’ Tho’nton was, anyhow. So things
kep’ on dis way, an’ de boy got handsomer evah day. My, but his pappy
did set a lot o’ sto’ by him. Dey wasn’t nuffin’ dat boy eben wished fu’
dat his pappy didn’t gin him. Seemed lak he fa’ly wusshipped him. He’d
jes’ watch him ez he went erroun’ de house lak he was a baby yit. So hit
mus’ ’a’ been putty ha’d wif Mas’ Jack when hit come time to sen’ Mas’
Tho’nton off to college. But he never showed it. He seed him off wif a
cheerful face, an’ nobidy would ’a’ ever guessed dat it hu’t him; but
dat afternoon he shet hisse’f up an’ hit was th’ee days befo’ anybody
’cept me seed him, an’ nobidy ’cept me knowed how his vittels come back
not teched. But after de fus’ letter come, he got better. I hyeahd him
a-laffin’ to hisse’f ez he read it, an’ dat day he et his dinner.
“Well, honey, dey ain’t no tellin’ whut Mas’ Jack’s plans was, an’ hit
ain’t fu’ me to try an’ guess ’em; but ef he had sont Mas’ Tho’nton erway
to brek him off f’om Miss Nellie, he mout ez well ’a’ let him stayed at
home; fu’ Jamieson’s Sal whut nussed Miss Nellie tol’ me dat huh mistis
got a letter f’om Mas’ Tho’nton evah day er so. An’ when he was home fu’
holidays, you never seed nuffin’ lak it. Hit was jes’ walkin’ er ridin’
er dribin’ wif dat young lady evah day of his life. An’ dey did look so
sweet together dat it seemed a shame to pa’t ’em—him wif his big brown
eyes an’ sof’ curly hair an’ huh all white an’ gentle lak a little dove.
But de ole Mas’ couldn’t see hit dat erway, an’ I knowed dat hit was
a-troublin’ him mighty bad. Ez well ez he loved his son, hit allus seemed
lak he was glad when de holidays was over an’ de boy was back at college.
“Endurin’ de las’ year dat de young Mastah was to be erway, his pappy
seemed lak he was jes’ too happy an’ res’less fu’ anything. He was
dat proud of his son, he didn’t know whut to do. He was allus tellin’
visitors dat come to de house erbout him, how he was a ’markable boy an’
was a-gwine to be a honour to his name. An’ when ’long to’ds de ve’y end
of de term, a letter come sayin’ dat Mas’ Tho’nton had done tuk some
big honour at de college, I jes’ thought sho Mas’ Jack ’u’d plum bus’
hisse’f, he was so proud an’ tickled. I hyeahd him talkin’ to his ole
frien’ Cunnel Mandrey an’ mekin’ great plans ’bout whut he gwine to do
when his son come home. He gwine tek him trav’lin’ fus’ in Eur’p, so’s to
‘finish him lak a Venable ought to be finished by seein’ somep’n’ of de
worl’—’ dem’s his ve’y words. Den he was a-gwine to come home an’ ‘model
de house an’ fit it up, ’fu’’—I never shell fu’git how he said it,—‘fu’
I ’spec’ my son to tek a high place in de society of ole Kintucky an’
to mo’ dan surstain de reputation of de Venables.’ Den when de las’ day
come an’ young Mastah was home fu’ sho, so fine an’ clever lookin’ wif
his new mustache—sich times ez dey was erbout dat house nobidy never seed
befo’. All de frien’s an’ neighbours, ’scusin’, o’ co’se, de Jamiesons,
was invited to a big dinner dat lasted fu’ hours. Dey was speeches by de
gent’men, an’ evahbidy drinked de graderate’s health an’ wished him good
luck. But all de time I could see dat Mas’ Tho’nton wasn’t happy, dough
he was smilin’ an’ mekin’ merry wif evahbidy. It ’pressed me so dat I
spoke erbout hit to Aunt Emmerline. Aunt Emmerline was Mas’ Tho’nton’s
mammy, an’ sence he’d growed up, she didn’t do much but he’p erroun’ de
house a little.
“‘You don’ mean to tell me dat you noticed dat too?’ says she when I tol’
huh erbout it.
“‘Yes, I did,’ says I, ‘an’ I noticed hit strong.’
“‘Dey’s somep’n’ ain’t gwine right wif my po’ chile,’ she say, ‘an’ dey
ain’t no tellin’ whut it is.’
“‘Hain’t you got no idee, Aunt Emmerline?’ I say.
“‘La! chile,’ she say in a way dat mek me think she keepin’ somep’n’
back, ‘la! chile, don’ you know young mans don’ come to dey mammys wif
dey secuts lak dey do when dey’s babies? How I gwine to know whut’s
pesterin’ Mas’ Tho’nton?’
“Den I knowed she was hidin’ somep’n’, an’ jes’ to let huh know dat
I’d been had my eyes open too, I say slow an’ ’pressive lak, ‘Aunt
Emmerline, don’ you reckon hit Miss Nellie Jamieson?’ She jumped lak she
was skeered, an’ looked at me right ha’d; den she say, ‘I ain’ reck’nin’
nuffin’ ’bout de white folks’ bus’ness.’ An’ she pinched huh mouf up
right tight, an’ I couldn’t git another word outen huh; but I knowed dat
I’d hit huh jes’ erbout right.
“One mo’nin’ erbout a week after de big dinner, jes’ ez dey was eatin’,
Mas’ Tho’nton say, ‘Father, I’d lak to see you in de liberry ez soon ez
you has de time. I want to speak to you ’bout somep’n’ ve’y impo’tant.’
De ole man look up right quick an’ sha’p, but he say ve’y quiet lak,
‘Ve’y well, my son, ve’y well; I’s at yo’ service at once.’
“Dey went into de liberry, an’ Mas’ Tho’nton shet de do’ behin’ him. I
could hyeah dem talkin’ kin’ o’ low while I was cl’arin’ erway de dishes.
After while dey ’menced to talk louder. I had to go out an’ dus’ de hall
den near de liberry do’, an’ once I hyeahd ole Mas’ say right sho’t an’
sha’p, ‘Never!’ Den young Mas’ he say, ‘But evah man has de right to
choose fu’ his own se’f.’
“‘Man, man!’ I hyeahd his pappy say in a way I had never hyeahd him use
to his son befo’, ‘evah male bein’ dat wahs men’s clothes an’ has a
mustache ain’t a man.’
“‘Man er whut not,’ po’ young Mastah’s voice was a-tremblin’, ‘I am
at leas’ my father’s son an’ I deserve better dan dis at his han’s.’
I hyeahd somebody a-walkin’ de flo’, an’ I was feared dey’d come out
an’ think dat I was a-listenin’, so I dus’es on furder down de hall,
an’ didn’t hyeah no mo’ ontwell Mas’ Tho’nton come hurryin’ out an’
say, ‘Ike, saddle my hoss.’ He was ez pale ez he could be, an’ when he
spoke sho’t an’ rough lak dat, he was so much lak his father dat hit
skeered me. Ez soon ez his hoss was ready, he jumped into de saddle
an’ went flyin’ outen de ya’d lak mad, never eben lookin’ back at de
house. I didn’t see Mas’ Jack fu’ de res’ of de day, an’ he didn’t come
in to suppah. But I seed Aunt Emmerline an’ I knowed dat she had been
somewhah an’ knowed ez much ez I did erbout whut was gwine on, but I
never broached a word erbout hit to huh. I seed she was oneasy, but I
kep’ still ’twell she say, ‘Whut you reckon keepin’ Mas’ Tho’nton out
so late?’ Den I jes’ say, ‘I ain’t reck’nin’ ’bout de white folks’
bus’ness.’ She looked a little bit cut at fus’, den she jes’ go on lak
nuffin’ hadn’t happened: ‘I’s mighty ’sturbed ’bout young Mas’; he never
stays erway f’om suppah ’dout sayin’ somep’n’.’
“‘Oh, I reckon he kin fin’ suppah somewhah else.’ I says dis don’t keer
lak jes’ fu’ to lead huh on.
“‘I ain’t so much pestered ’bout his suppah,’ she say; ‘I’s feared he
gwine do somep’n’ he hadn’t ought to do after dat qua’l ’twixt him an’
his pappy.’
“‘Did dey have a qua’l?’ says I.
“‘G’long!’ Aunt Emmerline say, ‘you wasn’t dus’in’ one place in de hall
so long fu’ nuffin’. You knows an’ I knows eben ef we don’t talk a heap.
I’s troubled myse’f. Hit jes’ in dat Venable blood to go right straight
an’ git Miss Nellie an’ ma’y huh right erway, an’ ef he do it, I p’intly
know his pa’ll never fu’give him.’ Den Aunt Emmerline ’mence to cry, an’
I feel right sorry fu’ huh, ’ca’se Mas’ Tho’nton huh boy, an’ she think a
mighty heap o’ him.
“Well, we hadn’t had time to say much mo’ when we hyeahd a hoss gallopin’
into de ya’d. Aunt Emmerline jes’ say, ‘Dat’s Gineral’s lope!’ an’ she
bus’ outen de do’. I waits, ’spectin’ huh to come back an’ say dat Mas’
Tho’nton done come at las’. But after while she come in wif a mighty long
face an’ say, ‘Hit’s one o’ Jamieson’s darkies; he brung de hoss back an’
a note Mas’ gin him fu’ his pappy. Mas’ Tho’nton done gone to Lexin’ton
wif Miss Nellie an’ got ma’ied.’ Den she jes’ brek down an’ ’mence
a-cryin’ ergin an’ a-rockin’ huhse’f back an’ fofe an’ sayin’, ‘Oh, my
po’ chile, my po’ boy, whut’s to ’come o’ you!’
“I went upstairs an’ lef’ huh—we bofe stayed at de big house—but I didn’t
sleep much, ’ca’se all thoo de night I could hyeah ole Mas’ a-walkin’
back an’ fofe ercross his flo’, an’ when Aunt Emmerline come up to baid,
she mou’ned all night, eben in huh sleep. I tell you, honey, dem was
mou’nin’ times.
“Nex’ mo’nin’ when ole Mas’ come down to brekfus’, he looked lak he
done had a long spell o’ sickness. But he wasn’t no man to ’spose his
feelin’s. He never let on, never eben spoke erbout Mas’ Tho’nton bein’
erway f’om de table. He didn’t eat much, an’ fin’ly I see him look right
long an’ stiddy at de place whah Mas’ Tho’nton used to set an’ den git
up an’ go ’way f’om de table. I knowed dat he was done filled up. I went
to de liberry do’ an’ I could hyeah him sobbin’ lak a chile. I tol’ Aunt
Emmerline ’bout it, but she jes’ shuck huh haid an’ didn’t say nuffin’
a’-tall.
“Well, hit went dis erway fu’ ’bout a week. Mas’ Jack was gittin’ paler
an’ paler evah day, an’ hit jes’ ’menced to come to my min’ how ole he
was. One day Aunt Emmerline say she gwine erway, an’ she mek Jim hitch
up de spring wagon an’ she dribe on erway by huhse’f. Co’se, now, Aunt
Emmerline she do putty much ez she please, so I don’t think nuffin’ ’bout
hit. When she come back, ’long to’ds ebenin’, I say, ‘Aunt Emmerline,
whah you been all day?’
“‘Nemmine, honey, you see,’ she say, an’ laff. Well, I ain’t seed nobidy
laff fu’ so long dat hit jes’ mek me feel right wa’m erroun’ my hea’t,
an’ I laff an’ keep on laffin’ jes’ at nuffin’.
“Nex’ mo’nin’ Aunt Emmerline mighty oneasy, an’ I don’ know whut de
matter ontwell I hyeah some un say, ‘Tek dat hoss, Ike, an’ feed him, but
keep de saddle on.’ Aunt Emmerline jes’ fa’ly fall out de do’ an’ I lak
to drap, ’ca’se hit’s Mas’ Tho’nton’s voice. In a minute he come to me
an’ say, ‘Doshy, go tell my father I’d lak to speak to him.’
“I don’ skeercely know how I foun’ my way to de liberry, but I did. Ole
Mas’ was a-settin’ dah wif a open book in his han’, but his eyes was jes’
a-starin’ at de wall, an’ I knowed he wasn’t a-readin’. I say, ‘Mas’
Jack,’ an’ he sta’t jes’ lak he rousin’ up, ‘Mas’ Jack, Mas’ Tho’nton
want to speak to you.’ He jump up quick, an’ de book fall on de flo’,
but he grab a cheer an’ stiddy hisse’f. I done tol’ you Mas’ Jack wasn’t
no man to ’spose his feelin’s. He jes’ say, slow lak he hol’in’ hisse’f,
‘Sen’ him in hyeah.’ I goes back an’ ’livers de message, den I flies
roun’ to de po’ch whah de liberry winder opens out, ’ca’se, I ain’t gwine
lie erbout it, I was mighty tuk up wif all dis gwine on an’ I wanted to
see an’ hyeah,—an’ who you reckon ’roun’ dah but Aunt Emmerline! She jes’
say, ‘S-sh!’ ez I come ’roun’, an’ clas’ huh han’s. In a minute er so, de
liberry do’ open an’ Mas’ Tho’nton come in. He shet hit behin’ him, an’
den stood lookin’ at his pa, dat ain’t never tu’ned erroun’ yit. Den he
say sof’, ‘Father.’ Mas’ Jack tu’ned erroun’ raal slow an’ look at his
son fu’ a while. Den he say, ‘Do you still honour me wif dat name?’ Mas’
Tho’nton got red in de face, but he answer, ‘I don’ know no other name to
call you.’
“‘Will you set down?’ Mas’ speak jes’ lak he was a-talkin’ to a stranger.
“‘Ef you desiah me to.’ I see Mas’ Tho’nton was a-bridlin’ up too. Mas’
jes’ th’owed back his haid an’ say, ‘Fa’ be it f’om any Venable to fu’git
cou’tesy to his gues’.’ Young Mas’ moved erway f’om de cheer whah he was
a-gwine to set, an’ his haid went up. He spoke up slow an’ delibut, jes’
lak his pa, ‘I do not come, suh, in dat cha’acter, I is hyeah ez yo’ son.’
“Well, ole Mas’ eyes fa’ly snapped fiah. He was white ez a sheet, but
he still spoke slow an’ quiet, hit made me creep, ‘You air late in
’memberin’ yo’ relationship, suh.’
“‘I hab never fu’got it.’
“‘Den, suh, you have thought mo’ of yo’ rights dan of yo’ duties.’ Mas’
Jack was mad an’ so was Mas’ Tho’nton; he say, ‘I didn’t come hyeah to
’scuss dat.’ An’ he tu’ned to’ds de do’. I hyeah Aunt Emmerline groan
jes’ ez Mas’ say, ‘Well, whut did you come fu’?’
“‘To be insulted in my father’s house by my father, an’ I’s got all dat
I come fu’!’ Mas’ Tho’nton was ez white ez his pa now, an’ his han’ was
on de do’-knob. Den all of a sudden I hyeah de winder go up, an’ I lak to
fall over gittin’ outen de way to keep f’om bein’ seed. Aunt Emmerline
done opened de winder an’ gone in. Dey bofe tu’ned an’ looked at huh
s’prised lak, an’ Mas’ Jack sta’ted to say somep’n’, but she th’owed up
huh han’ an’ say ‘Wait!’ lak she owned de house. ‘Mas’ Jack,’ she say,
‘you an’ Mas’ Tho’nton ain’t gwine pa’t dis way. You mus’n’t. You’s
father an’ son. You loves one another. I knows I ain’t got no bus’ness
meddlin’ in yo’ ’fairs, but I cain’t see you all qua’l dis way. Mastah,
you’s bofe stiffnecked. You’s bofe wrong. I know Mas’ Tho’nton didn’t
min’ you, but he didn’t mean no ha’m—he couldn’t he’p it—it was in de
Venable blood, an’ you mus’n’t ’spise him fu’ it.’
“‘Emmerline’—ole Mas’ tried to git in a word, but she wouldn’t let him.
“‘Yes, Mastah, yes, but I nussed dat boy an’ tuk keer o’ him when he was
a little bit of a he’pless thing; an’ when his po’ mammy went to glory, I
’member how she look up at me wif dem blessed eyes o’ hern an’ lay him in
my arms an’ say, “Emmerline, tek keer o’ my baby.” I’s done it, Mastah,
I’s done it de bes’ I could. I’s nussed him thoo sickness when hit seemed
lak his little soul mus’ foller his mother anyhow, but I’s seen de look
in yo’ eyes, an’ prayed to God to gin de chile back to you. He done it,
he done it, an’ you sha’n’t th’ow erway de gif’ of God!’ Aunt Emmerline
was a-cryin’ an’ so was Mas’ Tho’nton. Ole Mas’ mighty red, but he clared
his th’oat an’ said wif his voice tremblin’, ‘Emmerline, leave de room.’
De ole ooman come out a-cryin’ lak huh hea’t ’u’d brek, an’ jes’ ez de
do’ shet behin’ huh, ole Mas’ brek down an’ hol’ out his arms, cryin’,
‘My son, my son.’ An’ in a minute he an’ Mas’ Tho’nton was a-hol’in’ one
another lak dey’d never let go, an’ his pa was a-pattin’ de boy’s haid
lak he was a baby. All of a sudden ole Mas’ hel’ him off an’ looked at
him an’ say, ‘Dat ole fool talkin’ to me erbout yo’ mother’s eyes, an’
you stannin’ hyeah a-lookin’ at me wif ’em.’ An’ den he was a-cryin’
ergin, an’ dey was bofe huggin’.
“Well, after while dey got all settled down, an’ Mas’ Tho’nton tol’ his
pa how Aunt Emmerline drib to Lexin’ton an’ foun’ him an’ made him come
home. ‘I was wrong, father,’ he say, ‘but I reckon ef it hadn’t ’a’ been
fu’ Aunt Emmerline, I would ’a’ stuck it out.’
“‘It was in de Venable blood,’ his pa say, an’ dey bofe laff. Den ole
Mas’ say, kin’ o’ lak it hu’t him, ‘An’ whah’s yo’ wife?’ Young Mas’ got
mighty red ergin ez he answer, ‘She ain’t fu’ erway.’
“‘Go bring huh,’ Mas’ Jack say.
“Well, I reckon Mas’ Tho’nton lak to flew, an’ he had Miss Nellie dah in
little er no time. When dey come, Mas’ he say, ‘Come hyeah,’ den he pause
awhile—‘my daughter.’ Den Miss Nellie run to him, an’ dey was another
cryin’ time, an’ I went on to my work an’ lef’ ’em talkin’ an’ laffin’
an’ cryin’.
“Well, Aunt Emmerline was skeered to def. She jes’ p’intly knowed dat
she was gwine to git a tongue-lashin’. I don’ know whether she was mos’
skeered er mos’ happy. Mas’ sont fu’ huh after while, an’ I listened when
she went in. He was tryin’ to talk an’ look pow’ful stern, but I seed a
twinkle in his eye. He say, ‘I want you to know, Emmerline, dat hit ain’t
yo’ place to dictate to yo’ mastah whut he shell do—Shet up, shet up!
I don’ want a word outen you. You been on dis place so long, an’ been
bossin’ de other darkies an’ yo’ Mas’ Tho’nton erroun’ so long, dat I
’low you think you own de place. Shet up, not a word outen you! Ef you
an’ yo’ young Mas’ ’s a-gwine to run dis place, I reckon I’d better step
out. Humph! You was so sma’t to go to Lexin’ton de other day, you kin go
back dah ergin. You seem to think you’s white, an’ hyeah’s de money to
buy a new dress fu’ de ole fool darky dat nussed yo’ son an’ made you
fu’give his foo’ishness when you wanted to be a fool yo’se’f.’ His voice
was sof’ ergin, an’ he put de money in Aunt Emmerline’s han’ an’ pushed
huh out de do’, huh a-cryin’ an’ him put’ nigh it.
“After dis, Mas’ Jack was jes’ bent an’ boun’ dat de young people mus’ go
on a weddin’ trip. So dey got ready, an’ Miss Nellie went an’ tol’ huh
pa goo’bye. Min’ you, dey hadn’t been nuffin’ said ’bout him an’ Mas’
not bein’ frien’s. He done fu’give Miss Nellie right erway fu’ runnin’
off. But de mo’nin’ dey went erway, we all was out in de ya’d, an’ Aunt
Emmerline settin’ on de seat wif Jim, lookin’ ez proud ez you please.
Mastah was ez happy ez a boy. ‘Emmerline,’ he hollahs ez dey drib off,
‘tek good keer o’ dat Venable blood.’ De ca’iage stopped ez it went out
de gate, an’ Mas’ Tom Jamieson kissed his daughter. He had rid up de road
to see de las’ of huh. Mastah seed him, an’ all of a sudden somep’n’
seemed to tek holt o’ him an’ he hollahed, ‘Come in, Tom.’
“‘Don’ keer ef I do,’ Mas’ Jamieson say, a-tu’nin’ his hoss in de gate.
‘You Venables has got de res’ o’ my fambly.’ We all was mos’ s’prised to
def.
“Mas’ Jamieson jumped offen his hoss, an’ Mas’ Venable come down de steps
to meet him. Dey shuk han’s, an’ Mas’ Jack say, ‘Dey ain’t no fool lak a
ole fool.’
“‘An’ fu’ unekaled foo’ishness,’ Mas’ Tom say, ‘reckermen’ me to two ole
fools.’ Dey went into de house a-laffin’, an’ I knowed hit was all right
’twixt ’em, fu’ putty soon I seed Ike out in de ya’d a-getherin’ mint.”
AUNT MANDY’S INVESTMENT
AUNT MANDY’S INVESTMENT
The Coloured American Investment Company was organised for the
encouragement and benefit of the struggling among Americans of African
descent; at least, so its constitution said. Though truth was,
Mr. Solomon Ruggles, the efficient president and treasurer of the
institution, usually represented the struggling when there were any
benefits to receive.
Indeed, Mr. Ruggles was the Coloured American Investment Company. The
people whom he persuaded to put their money into his concern were only
accessories. Though a man of slight education, he was possessed of a
liberal amount of that shrewd wit which allows its possessor to feed upon
the credulity of others.