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Here Jim Pink broke into genuine laughter, which was quite a different thing from his stage grimaces. Peter stared at the fool astonished. "Has he gone to jail?" "Not prezactly." "Well confound it! exactly what did happen, Jim Pink?" "He gone to Mr. Cicero Throgmartins'." "What did he go there for?" "Couldn't he'p hisse'f." "Look here, you tell me what's happened." "Mr. Bobbs ca'ied Tump thaiuh.
"Ef you means dat stuck-up fly-by-night Cissie Dildine, say so, and don' stan' thaiuh mouthin', 'Miss Dildine, Miss Dildine'!" "Mother," asked Peter, thickly, through his swelling mouth, "do you want to know what did happen?" "I knows. I tol' you to keep away fum dat hussy. She's a fool 'bout her bright color an' straight hair. Needn't be givin' herse'f no airs!"
Peter would be glad to get well away from such a place. "Think I'll go North, Jim Pink," remarked Peter, chiefly to keep up a friendly conversation with his companion. "Whut-chu goin' to do up thaiuh?" "Take a position in a system of garages." "A position is a job wid a white color on it," defined the minstrel. "Whut you goin' to do wid Cissie?" Peter looked around at the foolish face.
"What's the matter, Tump?" he asked playfully. "Ain't nothin' matter wid me, nigger." Peter made a guess at Tump's surliness. "Look here, are you puffed up because Cissie Dildine struck you for a ten?" Tump's expression changed. "Is she struck me fuh a ten?" "Yes; on that school subscription." "Is dat whut you two niggers wuz a-talkin' 'bout over thaiuh in yo' house?" "Exactly."
"Whut you s'pose us niggers is got to roast in a tukky roaster?" The constable answered shortly that his business was to find the roaster, not what the negroes meant to put in it. "I decla'," satirized old Caroline, savagely, "dish-heah Niggertown is a white man's pocket. Ever' time he misplace somp'n, he feel in his pocket to see ef it ain't thaiuh. Don'-chu turn over dat sody-water, white man!
"Thaiuh 's de debbil, ketchin' mo' niggers nowadays dan he do white men, I 'fo' Gawd b'liebes." "Well, dat's because dey is so many mo' niggers dan dey is white folks," put in a philosopher. "Whut you say 'bout dat, Brudder Peter?" inquired the Persimmon, seriously. None of this discussion was either derision or burlesque.
Tump marked a sentence in the guaranty of the deed with a rusty forefinger and looked up at Peter in mixed triumph and accusation. Peter leaned over the deed, amused. "Let's see your mare's nest." "Well, she 'fo' God is thaiuh, an' you sho let loose a hundud dollars uv our 'ciety's money, an' got nothin' fuh hit but a piece o' paper wid a nigger-stopper on hit!"
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