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Updated: May 19, 2025
"Hold on tight, Cunnel," he said as he looked up at her, his face strangely softened almost beyond recognition. And she gurgled and laughed and screamed with delight as he began to slowly lead the mare along. The "Colonel" had the gift of continuance. Some time elapsed before she exhausted the joys of exaltation. More than once she absolutely refused to dismount.
One day, he gits right mad. 'Lows he goin' to advehtize fer a housekeepah-lady. Then Mas' Henry 'Cherd he's gemman been livin' couple o' yeahs 'er so down to near Vicksburg, some'rs; he's out huntin' now with the Cunnel why, Mas' 'Cherd he 'lows he knows whah thah's a lady, jus' the thing. Law! Cunnel didn't spec' no real lady, you know, jes' wantin' housekeepah.
Well, de Cunnel give us one of de out-buildin's fer dis heah weddin', an' I'd done made de cake I'd done made two cakes, but de second wuz fer Miss Ann's bu'fday; she bein' 'bout six, or sich a matter. All de niggers seen how purty 'twuz wid de candles on it what Marse John done got in de city; an' de dude nigger seen it, too.
Sykes, you've paid Cresswell about a thousand dollars in the last ten years. How large is your place?" "About twenty acres." "And what were you to pay for it?" "Four hundred." "Have you got the deed?" "Yes'm, but I ain't finished paying yet; de Cunnel say as how I owes him two hundred dollars still, and I can't see it. Dat's why I come over here to talk wid you." "Where is the deed?"
"Sho' does sound good," said Red Hoss, warming. "Whut else I got to do, cunnel?" "Oh, just odd jobs round this pitch here this animal show." "Hole on, please, boss! I don't have no truck wid elephints, does I?" "Nope. The elephants are down the line in a separate outfit of their own. You work with this show clean out the cages and little things like that.
"Laws-a-massy," she said, "Tobe ain't so rampa-gious, nohows, ez folks make him out. He air toler'ble peaceable, cornsiderin' ez nobody hev ever hed grit enough ter make a stand agin him, 'thout 'twar the Cunnel thar." She glanced around at the little girl's face framed in the frill of her night-cap, and peaceful and infantile as it lay on the pillow.
Very different were these city darkies from the respectful negroes of the Kentucky plantations of the time. They swarmed about him in an insistent horde. "Who gwine win dat race, Marse Cunnel? Who gwine win dat race?" they chorussed. He stopped and beamed at them good-naturedly. "Who's going to win?" said he. "Queen Bess, of course."
His brow wrinkled, as though he were trying to express a thought for which he had no words. "Yo' notice dat, too, suh?" he asked. "Why, yessuh, Cunnel; Ah don' know 'zackly how t' say hit, but dey is som'n, at dat. Hit seems like ... like a kinda ... a kinda blessedness." He chuckled. "Dat's hit, Cunnel; dey's a blessedness. Wondeh iffen Ah's gittin' r'ligion, now?"
"I know it, I know it," said her husband at length, uneasily. "That is, about us having to walk up heah. That whut you mean?" "Yassir, that's whut I do mean, an' you know it." "Well, now, how kin I help it? We kain't take the only mewel we got and make the nigger stop wu'k. That ain't reasonable. Besides, you don't think Cunnel Blount is goin' to miss a pail o' melk now and then, do you?"
The speaker failed to explain that the recent incumbent had quit thus abruptly as a result of having a forearm clawed by a lady leopard named Violet. "'Bout how long is dis yere job liable to last?" inquired Red Hoss. "You see, cunnel, Ise 'spectin' to have some right important private business in dis town 'fore so very long." "Then this is the very job you want.
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