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He do seem so onfeelin'. He loved that man bettah than anything on this yearth, an' I s'posed he'd take his death mighty hard; but what you reckon he said to me this mawnin'. I was i'onin' my black aidged handkerchief to take, when he says to me, sezee, 'What you want to put on mo'nin' for Rev'und Gawge for? He said to tell you all that he jus' gone through the toll-gate."
He libbed up dar on the hill in dat white house dat yo' see up dar, dat am locked up an' no one is in it. Dey got lot ob t'ings in dar. When de Union whip de Sesh at Dolins-burg, and de Sesh come dis way, gwine home or some-whar, den Massa Gawge an' all de famly dey go, too, an' take all de niggers 'cepin' me an' Ham.
"I hope I's ready, but I hope to be spaihed a good many yeahs yit." "To do good, I suppose?" "Yes, suh; yes, suh. Fac' is, Mawse Gawge, I jes' hop up to ax you some'p'n." "Well, here I am." "I want to ax you I want to ax you er er I want " "Oh, speak out. I haven't time to be bothering here all day." "Well, you know, Mawse Gawge, some o' us ain' nigh ez ol' ez dey looks." "That's true.
"Oh, yes, but change of work is rest. And how's the rheumatism, now, any better?" "Bettah? Why, Mawse Gawge, I ain' got a smidgeon of hit. I's jes' limpin' a leetle bit on 'count o' habit." "Well, it's good if one can get well, even if his days are nearly spent." "Heish, Mas' Gawge. I ain' t'inkin' 'bout dyin'." "Aren't you ready yet, in all these years?"
"Yes," said the claim agent, "you had a baby run down at the street crossing yesterday. We sent it to the hospital. How is it getting along?" "Hit's daid, Mr. Edd'ron. Yas sah, my lil' Gawge is daid." "What? Oh, pshaw!" "Yas sah, lil' Gawge done die six o'clock dis maw-nin'." She shook with sobs. The claim agent dropped his own face into his hands. The weary look came back again into his eyes.
Becker, the negro race was largely and genetically christened Gawge, to be addressed solely in native patois. "Evenin', Gawge." "Evenin', Mistah Beckah." "George, are you going to take good care of my husband to-night? That piece of steak you served him yesterday wasn't fit to eat." "Law now, Mis' Beckah, kin I help it if de best de kitchen has ain't none too good?" "Don't tell me!
"The mantle of the prophet 'Lijah done fell on his servant 'Lisha," she muttered under her breath. "What if the mantle of Gawge Chadwick have been left to my poah Ellen's boy, 'long with them books?" John Jay was balancing himself on one foot, while he drew the toes of the other along a crack in the floor between the puncheons, anxiously awaiting her decision.
"Ah never had no good times till ah was free", the old man continued. Mah pappy was a slave befo' me, and mah mammy, too. His name was Gawge Washin'ton Tolah, and her'n was Lucy Tolah. We took ouah name from ouah ownah, and we lived in a cabin way back of the big house, me and mah pappy and mammy and two brothahs. "They nevah mistreated me, neithah.
"Yes, suh, fu' a while, anyhow." "Uncle Simon, aren't you losing your religion?" "Losin' my u'ligion? Who, me losin' my u'ligion! No, suh." "Well, aren't you afraid you'll lose it on the Sundays that you spend out of your meeting-house?" "Now, Mas' Gawge, you a white man, an' you my mastah, an' you got larnin'. But what kin' o' argyment is dat? Is dat good jedgment?"
"They isn't any school for cul'ud folks less'n a mile an' a half away, an' besides, you hasn't clothes fitten to wear. The scholars would all laugh at you." Still he persisted. "What put such a notion in yo' head, anyhow?" she demanded. John Jay turned his face aside, and busied himself with taking another reef in his suspenders. "The Rev'und Gawge wanted me to go," he said, in a low tone.
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