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"Well, sit down here, then, and look at that picture. Who is it?" "Why, hit's me me dressed up as cap'n," ejaculated Nichol, delightedly. "Yes, that was the way you looked and dressed before you were wounded." "How yer talk! This beats anythin' I ever yeared from the Johnnies." "Now, Captain Nichol, you see we are not deceiving you. We called you captain.
I asked, after we had stared at one another. "Ain't yer yeared nuth'n' 'tall?" a shade of contempt in his tone. "No, what is there to hear?" I asked, rather irascibly. "Dey's a big fight down-town; de folks dey done tore de Six Reggimen' all ter pieces, an' dey's wuk'n 'long on de Fif now." "Whereabouts?" I started up, and got on my hat in an instant. "Dey's et Camd' Street depot, now.
"Doctor," he began over his mother's head, "what in thunder does all this here mean? Me 'n' Jackson was chinnin' comf't'bly, when sud'n you uns let loose on me two crazy old parties I never seed ner yeared on. Never had folks go on so 'bout me befo'. Beats even that Hob't Ma'tine," and he showed signs of rising irritation. "Albert, Albert!" almost shrieked Mrs.
"Neber yeared de win' howl dataway befo'," the negroes answered, as in a mass they drifted back to the quarters. Perkins was not only aware of his condition but was only too glad to have so good an excuse for not searching the cemetery. Scarcely had he been left alone, however, before he followed the negroes, resolved upon companionship of even those in whom he denied a humanity like his own.
"My name is Hobart Martine," the speaker forced himself to say, expecting fearfully a sign of recognition, for the impression that it was Nichol grew upon him every moment, in spite of apparent proof to the contrary. "Hump! Hob't Ma'tine. Never yeared on yer. Ef yer want ter chin mo' in the mawnin', I'll be yere." "Wait a moment, Yan " "Yankee Blank, I tole yer."
We'll make you understand about it all before long. Now you shall have some supper. Mr. Jackson is a warm friend of yours, and will see that you have a good one." "I reckon we'll get on ef he gives me plenty o' fodder. Bring it toreckly, fer I'm hungry. Quit yer starin', kyant yer?" "Don't you know me, Captain Nichol? Why, I " "Naw. Never seed ner yeared on yer. Did I ever nuss yer in a hospital?
I'se yeared en my day ob young gyurls mar'ed yere en mar'ed dar en dey aim' sayin' much 'bout who dey mar'y. Folks say dat wuz de way wid ole miss. I reckermember dem days en I year ole mars'r's fader talk'n wid her fader 'bout w'at dey call set'l'ments en po'tions.
In the darkness Chunk found an opportunity to summon Jute aside and say, "Free er fo' ob you offer ter stay wid ole Perkins. Thet he'p me out." Perkins accepted the offer gladly, and they agreed to watch at his door and in the little hallway. "You mus' des tie up dat ar dawg ob yourn," first stipulated Jute. "Why, whar in is the dog? Hain't yeared a sound from 'im sence the 'sturbance begun."
"My young mistis des seein' her mammy 'bout her clos," replied the quick-witted Zany. "I thought I yeared voices down by the run." "Reck'n you bettah go see," said Zany in rather high tones. "What the dev what makes yer speak so loud? a warnin'?" "Tain' my place ter pass wuds wid you, Marse Perkins. Dem I serbs doan fin' fault." "I reckon Mr. Baron'll do mo'n find fault 'fore long.
"Dwags kyant stan' spooks nohow," remarked Jute. "I've yeared that," admitted Perkins, looking around for the animal. "Thar he is, un'er yo' baid," said Jute, peeking through the doorway. The miserable man's hair fairly stood up when the brute was discovered stark and dead without a scratch upon him. Recourse was again had to the jug, and oblivion soon followed.
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