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"W'en Tenie see so many things happenin' ter de tree, she 'cluded she'd ha' ter turn Sandy ter sump'n e'se; en atter studyin' de matter ober, en talkin' wid Sandy one ebenin', she made up her mine fer ter fix up a goopher mixtry w'at would turn herse'f en Sandy ter foxes, er sump'n, so dey could run away en go some'rs whar dey could be free en lib lack w'ite folks.
"Ef it hadn't er bin fer de high-strungity-head-strongityness er de Bushrod blood, Miss Deely wouldn't 'a never runn'd off wid Clay Bivins in de roun' worril, dough he 'uz des one er de nicest w'ite mens w'at you 'mos' ever laid yo' eyes on.
"Her marster lafft at her, en argyed wid her, en tried ter 'suade her out'n dis yer fool notion, ez he called it, fer he wuz one er dese yer w'ite folks w'at purten' dey doan b'liebe in cunj'in', but hit wa'n't no use. Sis' Becky kep' gittin' wusser en wusser, 'tel fin'lly dis yer man 'lowed Sis' Becky wuz gwine ter die, sho' 'nuff.
"You're a big fool, boy," observed his father after Mis' Molly had gone back across the street, "ter be stickin' roun' dem yaller niggers 'cross de street, an' slobb'rin' an' slav'rin' over 'em, an' hangin' roun' deir back do' wuss 'n ef dey wuz w'ite folks. I'd see 'em dead fus'!"
"I expec's ter die a vi'lent death in a quarrel wid a w'ite man," replied Josh, in a matter-of-fact tone, "an' fu'thermo', he's gwine ter die at the same time, er a little befo'. I be'n takin' my own time 'bout killin' 'im; I ain' be'n crowdin' de man, but I'll be ready after a w'ile, an' den he kin look out!"
Dat's his bestest rubber plant what he tol' me to take partic'lar care of. What will you lil' w'ite childern be up to next, I'm a-wondering?" "Why, Mun Bun!" murmured Russ. "Why, Margy Bunker!" exclaimed Rose. He did not consider the mischief he had done. He was as curious as Vi could possibly have been about an entirely different thing.
Why not?" "I aint a w'ite boy." "What of it? Don't you learn well enough over at the school?" "More dar like me. Wot'd I do in a place whar all de res' was w'ite?" "Well as anybody." "Wot'll my mudder say, w'en she gits de news? You isn't a jokin', is you, Dab Kinzer?" "Joking? I guess not." "You's lit on me powerful sudden, 'bout dis.
"Is your teacher white?" "No, ma'm, she ain't w'ite; she's black. She looks lack she's w'ite, but she's black." Tryon had not seen the teacher's face, but the incident had jarred the old wound; Miss Leary's description of the teacher, together with Plato's characterization, had stirred lightly sleeping memories.
In vain Jerry protested. "I don' wan' ter fight," he howled. "De w'ite folks ain' gwine ter pester me; dey're my frien's. Tu'n me loose, tu'n me loose, er we all gwine ter git killed!" The party paid no attention to Jerry's protestations.
Bateese gave a disgusted grunt. "Becaus' MA BELLE Jeanne have such leetle bird heart, m'sieu. She say you mus' not have noise near, lak ze talk an' laugh an' ZE CHANSONS. She say it disturb, an' zat it mak you worse wit' ze fever. She ees mak you lak de baby, Bateese say to her. But she on'y laugh at zat an' snap her leetle w'ite finger. Wait St. Pierre come! He brak yo'r head wit' hees two fists.
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