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Updated: May 25, 2025
"Go long, boss! w'at you speck I be doin' sailin' 'roun' ter dese yer cullud picnics? Much mo' an' I wouldn't make bread by wukkin' fer't, let 'lone follerin' up a passel er boys an' gals all over keration. Boss, ain't you year 'bout it, sho' 'nuff?" "I haven't, really. What was the matter?" "I got strucken wid a sickness, an' she hit de ole nigger a joe- darter 'fo' she tu'n 'im loose."
'I'm gwineter make you pay fer't. I done bin tampered wid twel plum' down ter de sap sucker'll set on a log en sassy me. I'm gwineter fling you in a bresh-heap en burn you up, sezee. "'Ef you fling me on der fier, Brer Fox, I'll fly 'way, sez Mr. Buzzard, sezee. "'Well, den, I'll settle yo' hash right now, sez Brer Fox, sezee, en wid dat he grab Mr.
I'm a blamed old fool an' ought ter hev a keeper put over me!" Then turning to Albert he added, "I've paid that dum thief over four hundred dollars this year an' hain't got a scrap o' paper ter show fer't, and nothin's been done so fer as I kin see 'bout the business."
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