Be it known that every negro loves to be buried behind white mules. It
is his glory and his religion. This kind was hauling Uncle Thomas. Now,
a white mule is an old mule, and the older the mule, the bigger the
fool, and when they peeped over the top of that hill, only to butt into
a goggle-eyed demon, they did what mules always do. When I first saw
them I was looking at the north end of that negro hearse. The next
instant I was looking at the south end. And as the thing turned over
once to adjust itself to different direction, a venerable old darkey
shot out of the rear end of that hearse, followed by a two-dollar
coffin, and everything in that two miles of vehicles turned tail at the
same time.
I jumped out, grabbing my hunting coat, which I knew held a flask of
whiskey, and rushed pell-mell through the woods for the creek bank. All
I wanted was a little water in that whiskey.
After satisfying myself I would not faint, I went back in time to see
that everything had been fixed and the procession headed north again.
"No, sah, it didn't hurt Brer Thomas," the preacher was explaining to
Horace; "but it did upsot some of the sisterin, an' they fainted when he
come outer the back end of that kerridge so nachul an' briefly. No,
sah; nobody's hurt, sah; it wuz jes' a sivigerus accerdent."
"How much money have you, Horace? I've spent all mine on dead and
registered cats," I said, bitterly.
He had plenty, and tipped the whole two miles of them, as they passed
by, singing: "_Jordan is a hard road to travel._"
Never had that old song seemed so real to me!
"I stop right here," I said, after assuring myself that I would not
faint again. "The sun is setting; we've been out all day, and found
nothing but a cat and a corpse."
Our experience had taken our nerve, and we waited two hours by the
roadside, way after dark, until we'd seen everything we met in the
morning go back home.
Then we lit up, and reached home at ten o'clock.
Eloise and the twins met me at the gate, scared to death.
"So glad you're safe," she cried, kissing me. "I know you've got a full
bag, you've never failed, and, oh, dearie, I've invited a dozen ladies
over to-morrow for lunch, promising quail on toast, so I hope nothing
has happened."
By this time one of the twins was climbing over me, shouting, "Daddy,
show me old Bob White--show me old Brer Rabbit." And the other echoed,
"Daddy, show me old Bob White--show me old Brer Rabbit."
The bitterness of it went into me.
"Quail on toast?" I cried with sarcasm. "Change it now, my dear; write
them all a note at once and tell them tomcat is better, for that's all
I've killed to-day! Just make it tomcat on toast!"
Eloise looked at me curiously. "Jack, I believe you have taken one of
those cheap drinks."
"One?" I said. "I drank a flask of it. I had to or faint when I saw
poor old Uncle Thomas come out of the rear end of that hearse as natural
as life."
"Oh!" said Eloise, putting her fingers in her ears. "Come in, dearie,
and I'll give you another, poor dear!"
But it was rubbed in on me that night. It was midnight when Eloise came
to my room. I heard one of the twins crying. "Come here, Jack," she
said laughing. "One of them wants you, has waked up crying for you."
She was sitting up in bed and her lamentations were loud. At sight of
me she broke out, "Daddy--you brought sister a dead cat
and--and--wouldn't--bring me--me--one!"
To jolly her into good humor, as I often did, I picked her up and turned
her a somersault in the bed: I was unfortunate again--that accursed cat
and automobile!
Accidentally her head was bumped.
In blazing indignation, she sat up and spat upon me!
I retreated as best I could: "Your mother will spank you for that"--I
said.
She quieted--ashamed: but almost instantly the other one sat up in bed,
crying lustily.
"What do _you_ want?" I said. "I thought you were asleep."
"Tum back here," she wailed heart-brokenly, "_and let me spit on you
too!_"