One Sunday morning, as Major Jimmy Bass was shaving himself, he heard
a knock at the back door. The major had his coat and waistcoat off and
his suspenders were hanging around his hips. He was applying the lather
for the last time, and the knocking was so sudden and unexpected that
he rubbed the shaving-brush in one of his eyes. He began to make some
remarks which, however appropriate they may have been to the occasion,
could not be reported here with propriety. But in the midst of his
indignant monologue he remembered that the knocking might have proceeded
from some of Mrs. Bass’s lady friends, who frequently made a descent on
the premises in that direction for the purpose of borrowing a cupful of
sugar or coffee in a social way. These considerations acted as powerful
brakes on the conversation that Major Bass was carrying on with some
imaginary foe. Holding a towel to his smarting eye, he peeped from his
room door and looked down the hall. The back door was open, but he could
see no one.
“Who was that knocking?” he cried. “I’ll go one eye on you anyways.”
“’T ain’t nobody but me, Marse Maje,” came the response from the door.
“Is that you, Jess?” exclaimed the major. “Well, pleg-take your hide to
the pleg-taked nation! A little more an’ you’d ’a’ made me cut my th’oat
from year to year; an’ as it is, I’ve jest about got enough soap in my
eye fer to do a day’s washin’.”
“Is you shavin’ yourse’f, Marse Maje?” asked Jesse, diplomatically.
“That I am,” replied the major with emphasis. “I allers was independent
of white folks, an’ sence you pulled up your stakes an’ took up wi’ the
quality I’m about independent of the niggers. An’ it’s mighty quare to
me,” the major went on, “that you’d leave your high an’ mighty people
long enough fer to come a-bangin’ an’ makin’ me put out my eyes. Why, ef
I’d ’a’ had my razor out, I’ll be boun’ you’d made me cut my th’oat, an’
much good may it ’a’ done you.”
“Name er goodness, Marse Maje,” protested Jesse, “what make you go on dat
a-way? Ef I’d ’a’ knowed you wuz busy in dar I’d ’a’ set out in de sun en
waited twel you got thoo.”
“Yes,” said the major in a sarcastic but somewhat mollified tone, “you’d
’a’ sot out there an’ got to noddin’, an’ then bimeby your Miss Sarah
would ’a’ come along an’ ketched you there, an’ I’ll be boun’ she’d ’a’
lammed you wi’ a chunk of wood; bekaze she don’t ’low no loafin’ in the
back yard sence you been gone. I don’t know what you come fer,” the major
continued, still wiping the lather out of his eye, “an’ nuther do I
keer; but sence you are here you kin come in an’ finish shavin’ me, fer
to pay fer the damage you’ve done.”
Jesse was apparently overjoyed to find that he could be of some service.
He bustled around in the liveliest manner, and was soon mowing the
major’s fat face with the light but firm touch for which he was noted. As
he shaved he talked.
“Marse Maje,” he said, “does you know what I come fer dis mornin’?”
“I’ve been tryin’ to think,” replied the major; “but I couldn’t tell you
ef I was a-gwine to be hung fer it. You are up to some devilment, I know
mighty well, but I wish’t I may die ef I’ve got any idee what it is.”
“Now, Marse Maje, what make you talk dat’a’way?”
“Oh, I know you, Jess, an’ I’ve been a-knowin’ you a mighty long time.
Your Miss Sarah mayn’t know you, Jess, but I know you from the groun’ all
the way up.”
Jesse laughed. He was well aware that the major’s wife was the knowing
one of that family. He had waited until that excellent lady had issued
from the house on her way to church, and it was not until she was out
of sight that he thought it safe to call on the major. Even now, after
he had found the major alone, the negro was somewhat doubtful as to the
propriety of explaining the nature of his business; but the old man was
inquisitive.
“Oh, yes, Jess!” the major went on, after pausing long enough to have the
corner of his mouth shaved—“oh, yes! I know you, an’ I know you’ve got
somethin’ on your min’ right now. Spit it out.”
“Well, I’ll tell you de trufe, Marse Maje,” said Jesse, after hesitating
for some time; “I tell you de Lord’s trufe, I come yer atter somepin’ ter
eat.”
Major Bass caught the negro by the arm, pushed the razor carefully out of
the way, and sat bolt upright in the chair.
“Do you mean to stan’ up there, you triflin’ rascal,” the major
exclaimed, “an’ tell me, right before my face an’ eyes, that you’ve come
a-sneaking back here atter vittles? Whyn’t you stay where the vittles
was?” Major Bass was really indignant.
“Wait, Marse Maje; des gimme time,” said Jesse, nervously strapping the
razor on the palm of his hand. “Des gimme time, Marse Maje. You fly up
so, suh, dat you git me all mixed up wid myse’f. I come atter vittles,
dat’s de Lord’s trufe; but I ain’t come atter ’em fer myse’f. Nigger like
me don’t stay hongry long roun’ whar folks know um like dey does me.”
“Well, who in the name of reason sent you, then?” asked the major.
“Nobody ain’t sont me, suh,” said Jesse.
“Well, who do you want em’ fer?” insisted the major.
“Marse Judge Bascom en Miss Mildred,” replied Jesse solemnly.
Major Jimmy Bass fell back in his chair in a state of collapse, overcome
by his astonishment.
“_Well!_” he exclaimed, as soon as he could catch his breath. “Ef this
don’t beat the Jews an’ the Gentiles, the Scribes an’ the Pharisees,
then I ain’t a-settin’ here. Did they tell you to come to this house fer
vittles?”
“No, suh; _dat_ dey ain’t—_dat_ dey ain’t! Ef Miss Mildred wuz ter know I
went anywhar on dis kin’ er errun’ she’d mighty nigh have a fit.”
“Well, _well_, WELL!” snorted the major.
“I des come my own se’f,” Jesse went on. He would have begun shaving
again, but the major waved him away. “Look like I ’bleege’ ter come.
You’d ’a’ come yo’se’f, Marse Maje, druther dan see dem folks pe’sh
deyse’f ter deff. Dey got money, but Marse Judge Bascom got de idee dat
dey hafter save it all fer ter buy back de ole Place. Dey pinch deyse’f
day in en day out, en yistiddy when Miss Mildred say she gwine buy
somepin’ fer Sunday, Marse Judge Bascom he say no; he ’low dat dey mus’
save en pinch en buy back de ole home. I done year him say dat twel it
make me plum sick. An’ dar dey is naturally starvin’ deyse’f.
“Miss Mildred,” continued Jesse, “got idee dat her pa know what he
talkin’ ’bout; but twix’ you en me, Marse Maje, dat ole man done about
lose his min’. He ain’t so mighty much older dan what you is, but he
mighty feeble in his limbs, en he mighty flighty in his head. He talk
funny, now, en he don’t talk ’bout nothin’ skacely but buyin’ back the
ole Place.”
“Jess,” said Major Bass in the smooth, insinuating tone that the negro
knew so well, and that he had learned to fear, “ain’t I allers treated
you right? Ain’t I allers done the clean thing by you?”
“Yes, Marse Maje, you is,” said the negro with emphasis.
“Well, then, Jess, what in the name of Moses do you want to come roun’ me
wi’ such a tale as this? Don’t you know I know you clean through? Whyn’t
you come right out an’ say you want the vittles fer yourself? What is the
use whippin’ the devil ’roun’ the stump?”
“Marse Maje,” said Jesse, solemnly, “I’m a-tellin’ you de Lord’s trufe.”
By this time he had begun to shave the major again.
“Well,” said Major Bass, after a pause, during which he seemed to be
thinking, “suppos’n’ I was to let myself be took in by your tale, an’
suppos’n’ I was to give you some vittles, what have you got to put ’em
in?”
“I got a basket out dar, Marse Maje,” said Jesse, cheerfully. “I brung it
a purpose.”
“Why, tooby shore, tooby shore!” exclaimed the major, sarcastically. “Ef
you was as forehanded as you is fore-thoughted you wouldn’t be a-runnin’
roun’ beggin’ vittles from han’ to mouth. But sence you are here you’d
better make haste; bekaze ef your Miss Sarah comes back from church and
ketches you here, she’ll kick up a purty rippit.”
The major was correct. As he and Jesse went into the pantry Mrs. Bass
entered the front door. Flinging her bonnet and mantilla on a bed, she
went to the back porch for a drink of water. The major heard her coming
through the hallway, and, by a swift gesture of his hand, cautioned Jesse
to be quiet.
“I’ll vow if the place ain’t left to take care of itself,” Mrs. Bass was
saying. “Doors all open, chickens in the dining-room, cat licking the
churn-dasher, and I’ll bet my existence that not a drop of fresh water
has been put in the house-bucket since I left this morning. Everything
gone to rack and ruin. I can’t say my prayers in peace at home, and if
I go to church one Sunday in a month there ain’t no satisfaction in the
sermon, because I know everything’s at loose ends on this whole blessed
place. And if you’d go up the street right now, you’d find Mr. Bass
a-setting up there at the tavern with the other loafers, a-giggling and
a-snickering and a-dribbling at the mouth like one possessed.”
The major, in the pantry, winced visibly at this picture drawn true to
life, and as he attempted to change his position he knocked a tin vessel
from one of the shelves. He caught at it, and it fell to the floor with a
loud crash.
“The Lord have mercy!” exclaimed Mrs. Bass. “Is Satan and all his imps
in the pantry, a-tearing down and a-smashing up things?” Not being a
timid woman, she hastened to investigate. The sight she saw in the
pantry struck her speechless. In one corner stood the major, holding up
one foot, as if he was afraid of breaking something, and vainly trying
to smile. In another corner stood Jesse, so badly frightened that very
little could be seen of his face except the whites of his eyes. The
tableau was a comical one. Mrs. Bass did not long remain speechless.
“Mr. Bass!” she exclaimed, “what under the shining sun are you doing
colloguing with niggers in my pantry? If you want to collogue with
niggers, why, in the name of common sense, don’t you take ’em out to the
barn? What are you doing in there, anyhow? For mercy’s sake! have you
gone stark-natural crazy? And if you ain’t, what brand-new caper are you
trying to cut up?”
“Don’t talk so loud, Sarah,” said the major, wiping the cold perspiration
from his face. “All the neighbors’ll hear you.”
“And why shouldn’t they hear me?” exclaimed Mrs. Bass. “What could be
worse than for me to come home from church in broad daylight and find you
penned up in my pantry, arm-in-arm with a nigger? What business have you
got with niggers that you have to take ’em into my pantry to collogue
with ’em? I’d a heap rather you’d ’a’ taken ’em in the parlor—a heap
rather.”
Then Mrs. Bass’s eyes fell on the basket Jesse had in his hand, and this
added to her indignation.
“I believe in my soul,” she went on, “that you are stealing the meat and
bread out of your own mouth to feed that nigger. If you ain’t, what is
the basket for?”
“Tut, tut, Sarah, don’t you go on so; you’ll make yourself the
laughin’-stock of the town,” said the major in a conciliatory tone.
“And what’ll you be?” continued Mrs. Bass, relentlessly; “what’ll you
be—a honeyin’ up with buck niggers in my pantry in the broad open
daytime? Maybe you’ll have the manners to introduce me to your pardner.
Who is he, anyhow?” Then Mrs. Bass turned her attention to the negro.
“Come out of my pantry, you nasty, trifling rascal! Who are you?”
“’T ain’t nobody but me, Miss Sa’ah,” said Jesse as he issued forth.
“You!” she exclaimed. “You are the nigger that was too biggity to stay
with ’em that raised you up and took care of you, and now you come back
and try to steal their bread and meat! Well! I know the end of the world
ain’t so mighty far off.”
Mrs. Bass sank into a chair, exhausted by her indignation. Then the major
took the floor, so to say, and showed that if he could be frightened by
his wife, he could also, at the proper time, show that he had a will of
his own. He explained the situation at some length, and with an emphasis
that carried conviction with it. He made no mention of Jesse in his
highly colored narrative, but left his wife to infer that while she was
at church praying for peace of mind and not having her prayers answered
to any great extent, he was at home engaged in works of practical
charity. Nothing could have been finer than the major’s air of injured
innocence, unless it was Jesse’s attitude of helpless and abandoned
humiliation. The result of it was that Mrs. Bass filled the basket with
the best she had in the house, and Jesse went home happy.