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"See yah, Mas'r Tom and chil'n all," said Solomon, at last. "Ise gwine to pose dat we all go an tend to sometin ob de fust portance. Hyah's Mas'r Tom habn't had notin to eat more'n a mont; an hyah's de res ob de blubbed breddern ob de Bee see double what been a fastin since dey riz at free clock dis shinin and spicious morn.

Hyah's a lot o' dem air goal lumps, and I know weah dey's bushels moah, plenty 'nuff to go into pahtnehship on." The superintendent, looked bewildered, then amused, then ashamed. Embarrassed for a reply, he finally said: "I haven't time to talk to you now, Pop. Besides, I've made up my mind not to go into the gold business. You see, I'm rich enough already. Good day."

"'Hyah's a nice hot fried cake fo' you, honey, she says. "'This ain't no fried cake, I says. 'This is a doughnut. "'You ain' tryin' to tell me what a fried cake is, is you? she says. "'Aunt Liza, I says to her while I'm eatin' the doughnut, 'I sees Mr. Jack Dillon after he's been here, 'n' he acts like he'd had a bad time. Did you take a poker to him, too? "'No, sah, she says.

"'Hyah's yo' twenty dollahs, says the ole nigger, fishin' out a roll of raggedy bills and passin' 'em up to the stand. "'Thank you, Uncle Jake. Come to the clerk for your bill of sale this evenin', says the auctioneer. "I watches the sale a while longer, 'n' then mooches into the big barn where the yearlin's 'n' two-year-olds is waitin' to be sold.