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Had there been but one dog, the submarine boy, with all his grit forced to the surface, might have chosen to face the brute, hoping to despatch it with a well-aimed kick. But with two dogs, both intent on “getting” him, young Benson knew that he would stand the fabled chance of a snow-flake on a red-hot stove. “Dat’s right, gemmun, yo’ keep cool,” observed the mulatto, mockingly.
“No, sah; no, sah,” protested the mulatto. “Marse Truax done got sick right and proper.” “Why, confound it, we’re leaving the town behind,” cried Jack, a few moments later, after peering out through the cab window. “Dat’s all right, sah. Dere ain’ nuffin’ to be ’fraid ob, sah.” “Afraid?” uttered Jack, scornfully, with a side glance at the mulatto.
“Dat’s so; it war good dinna time w’en he come a lopin’ in town. Dat hoss look like he ben swimmin’ in Cane Riva, he done ride him so hard. He fling he se’f down front o’ Grammont’s sto’ an’ he come a stompin’ in, look like gwine hu’t somebody. Ole Grammont tell him, ‘How you come on, Grégor? Come ova tu de house an’ eat dinna wid us: de ladies be pleas tu see you.’
“Now, Ah’s gwine leave yo’ fo’ de night,” clacked the late guide. “Ef yo’ done feel lonesome, yo’ jes’ whistle de dawgs down to yo’. Dey’ll come!” While the light was still there Benson, in raging silence, gathered the blankets and arranged them. “Roll up one fo’ a pillow, under yo’ haid,” grinned the mulatto. “Dat’s all right, sah. Now, good night, Marse Benson.
Now I don’t like to tell about lost things; I’se ’fraid I’ll get myself into a snare; I’d rather not say nothing about it; fear I’ll get myself into trouble.” His auditor here gave him the most positive assurances that he should never be called into court to identify the thief of the missing article, and that he should be held free from all harm; whereupon he consented to impart the following information: “Dis thing you lost is something that hangs up on a nail—something bright and round—you thinks a great deal of it, my son—when it went away it had on a bright guard—hasn’t got a bright guard on now; got a black guard—you see I knows all about de article, my son, and I can tell you razackly where de article is—but I’se rather not tell you ’bout it, my son; ’fraid I’ll run myself into a snare; dat’s the truth, my son, rather no say nothin’ ’bout de article.”
See, here is the knot,” and he showed the ace of diamonds. “See, this is the lady you ought to marry,” and he produced the queen of diamonds; “and she will be your second wife if you do marry de dark-complected lady, but you’d better marry her first if you can get her, and let de dark-complected lady go for ebber; dat’s so, my son, now mind I tell you.”
He now shook his old white head, and heaved a deep sigh. “All dat gwine come hard an’ heavy on de madam. She don’t desarve it God knows, she don’t desarve it.” “How you, ole like you is, kin look fu’ somethin’ diffunt, Unc’ Hiurm?” observed Aunt Belindy philosophically. “Don’t you know Grégor gwine be Grégor tell he die? Dat’s all dar is ’bout it.”
You can make them just as quick as you can think you can make hundreds and hundreds in a day.” “My Lan’! Dat’s w’at you’se studyin’ ’bout w’en you’se steppin’ ’roun’ heah like a droopy pullet? An’ I t’ought you was studyin’ ’bout dat beau you lef’ yonda to Sent Lous.” “You mustn’t say such things to me; I’m going to be a religious.” “How dat gwine henda you have a beau ef you’se religious?”
“Oh, all sort o’ ways,” he admitted, with a certain shy brazenness; determined to go through with the ordeal. “Dey ’low you wants to cut de little gals’ plaits off, an’ sich I don’ know me.” “Do you suppose, Nathan,” said Thérèse attempting but poorly to hide her amusement at Melicent’s look of dismay, “that Miss Hosmer would bother herself with darkies’ plaits?” “Dat’s w’at I tink m’sef.
"Dis a new way de buckra man got to fight," he said. "He fire big ball arter you, and den de big ball fire little ones arter you. Dat’s berry cunnin’, but ole Cudjoe know somethin’ better un dat."
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