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Updated: June 2, 2025
Yeah, he was a square shooter I want to say and some day I'm hopin' me'n Oscar c'n shake hands, since the war's long past an' German is being taught again in our public schools." Then he launched forth in a graphic, if terse, description of the remarkable battle that had so recently taken place.
"Dar now, mars'r, you isn't in heb'n yet, dough Miss Lou, standin' dar, mout favor de notion. Des you took anoder swaller ob dis ginger-tea, en den you see me'n Chunk ain' angels." Chunk grinned and chuckled. "Neber was took fer one in my bawn days." The young man did as he was bidden, then turned his eyes wistfully and questioningly from the two dark visages back to the girl's sympathetic face.
"Me'n Luke's been talkin' it over," she said, with some embarrassment; "we 'lowed you mought mebby be willin' to put up with us; we've got a spare room, an' you know about how we live. You've lied unmercifully ef you don't like my cookin'," she concluded, with an awkward little laugh. "I never lie," he retorted, smiling.
"Well, I dunno, honey; yer pinnin' de ole nigger mighty close; de whiskey mout hab sump'n ter do wid it; I ain't 'sputin' dat but wat I stan's on is dis: dem folks wat I seed die drunk, dey nuber had no buckeyes in dey pockets; caze I 'members dat oberseer wat Marse Brunson had, he died wid delirums treums, an' he runned, he did, fur ter git 'way fum de things wat he seed atter him; an' he jumped into de riber, an' got drownded; an' I wuz dar wen dey pulled 'im out; an' I sez ter Brer John Small, who wuz er standin' dar, sez I, now I lay yer he ain't got no buckeyes in his pockets; and wid dat me'n Brer John we tuck'n turnt his pockets wrong side outerds; an' bless yer soul, chile, hit wuz jes like I say; DAR WAN'T NO BUCKEYES DAR! Well, I'd b'lieved in de ole sayin' befo', but dat jes kin'ter sot me on it fas'er 'n eber; an' I don't cyar wat de wedder is, nor wat de hurry is; hit may rain an' hit may shine, an' de time may be er pressin', but ole Rob he don't stir out'n his house mornin's 'cep'n he's got buckeyes in his pockets.
Jest then, a big buck Injun, got up and follered her, but she walked on, right towards us, till she was within a dozen feet of where me'n Jerry lay hid. "The Injun told her in Spanish, to go back, and took her by the shoulder to make her do it.
"Yes, honey, I'se skyeert ter go out any-whar; I'se so skyeert uv Tight-fis' Smith." "He's awful mean, ain't he?" asked Dumps. "Dat he is chile," replied the man; "he's cruel an' bad." "Then don't you ever go back to him," said Dumps. "You stay right here an' me'n Diddie'll bring you ev'ything ter eat, an' have you fur our nigger."
"Well, chillun," said Mammy, plucking away at the chicken, "dat's so; it is a curus name like; me'n de ole man he dead an' gone, chillun, long fo' you was born; me'n de ole man 'sulted long time 'bout dat chile's name an' he war goin' on six months old fo' we name him at all." "Well, how did you happen to call him Grief?" insisted Joe. "Yes, honey, yes.
The wound was soon dressed, supper eaten, Juanita made as comfortable as possible for the night, and then we gathered about the camp-fire to hear Tom Pope, relate the story of the capture, as follows: "Me'n Jerry, started from here, and crawled through the grass and underbrush, till we got pretty close to the varmints' camp.
The Eagle was commanded by a tough Scotsman, and the Archer by a Frenchman. Commander MacFife spoke through the communicator. "Switch bands to universal, lad. Me'n Galliene are goin' to talk this Connie into a braw mess. MacFife off." Rip guessed that the two cruiser commanders had been in communication while enroute to the asteroid and had cooked up some kind of plan.
The last glint of yellow had faded from the western sky, as Hi proposed that they cut through the woods to "gain time," he said. "Oh, I'm 'fraid to go into the woods when it's getting dark," wailed Prue. "But me'n Uncle Joshua did the day we went the shortest way," said Hi, "an' this looks just like the place.
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