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"But you must have another name?" "No I hain't. Jes' wore dat fer twenty-odd years, an' nebber hed no udder." "Who do you work for?" "Wuk for myself, sah." "Well, on whose land do you work?" "Wuks on my own, sah. Oh, I libs at home an' boa'ds at de same place, I does. An' my name's Nimbus, jes' straight along, widout any tail ner handle." "What was your old master's name?"
He blue in de face an' dance de quadrille on de boa'ds. He leave his cha'h, git up, an' run 'cross to de odder side de platfawm, an' shake be fis' ovah dat man's head, an' screech out how it all lies dat de slaves evah 'ceive sich a treatments. 'Dat all lies, you pu'juh! he holler. 'All lies, you misabul thief, he holler. 'All lies, an' you know it, you low-bawn slandah' an' scoun'le!
Didn't nobody need dat $100.00 dat bad!" The old negro tells the following grave yard story: "One dark, drizzly night, de niggers wuz out in de woods shootin' craps. I didn't hab no money to jine in de game. One nigger say, "Doc, effen you go down to de cemetey' an' bring bac' one ob dem 'foot boa'ds' frum one ob dem graves, we'll gib yo' a dollar."
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