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Updated: June 10, 2025
Johnson inquired. "Who? Miss Julia? She settin' out on the front po'che talkin' to Mista Sammerses." "My name! How she goin' fix it with him, after all thishere dishcumaraddle?" "Who? Miss Julia? Leave her alone, honey! She take an' begin talk so fas' an' talk so sweet, no young man ain't goin' to ricklect he ever give her no cats, not till he's gone an' halfway home!
Mista Yen Sin lite a letta to Mista Sam Kow, on Mista Minista colla-band. See? Mista Sam Kow lite a letta back on colla-band. See?" We saw that the yellow man was no longer talking at random, but slowly, with his eyes on the collar he held in his hand, like a scholar in his closet, perusing the occult pages of a chronicle.
For it must never be forgotten that the Kosekin love death as we love life; and this accounts for all those ceremonies which to me were so abhorrent, especially the scenes of the Mista Kosek.
And I thought that since death was inevitable it were better to meet it thus, and in this way end my life not amid the horrors of the sacrifice and the Mista Kosek, but in a way which seemed natural to a seafaring man like myself, and with which I had long familiarized my thoughts.
He frightened me. Quite abruptly, as if an unexpected reservoir of energy had been tapped, the dying man lifted on an elbow and slid one leg over the edge of the couch. Then he glanced at me with an air almost furtive. "Boy," he whispered. "Run quick gettee Mista Minista, yes." "But he's coming himself," I protested. "You better lay back." "Mista Yen Sin askee please! Please, boy."
I am sure he did not see me on the bench; he was looking at Yen Sin. "How is it with you to-night, my brother?" The Chinaman straightened up and faced him, grave, watchful. "Fine," he said. "Mista Yen Sin fine. Mista Minista fine, yes?" He bowed and motioned his visitor to a rocker, upholstered with a worn piece of Axminster and a bit of yellow silk with half a dragon on it.
Thishere Gammire, he dog cos' money; he show class same you' Aunt Julia. Ain't neither one of 'em got to waste they time on nobody whut can't show no mo' class than thishere li'l young dish-cumbobbery Mista Dills!" "I don't care," Florence said stubbornly.
Separated from Almah, surrounded by foul fiends, in darkness and the shadow of death, with the baleful prospect of the Mista Kosek, it was mine to endure the bitterest anguish and despair; and in me these feelings were all the worse from the thought that Almah was in a similar state, and was enduring equal woes.
Mrs. Silver hooted. "Go way! That there young li'l Mista Dills, he ain' nev' did show no class, no way nor no time. He be hunderd year ole b'fo' you see him in autamobile whut b'long to him. Look at a way some nem fine big rich men like Mista Clairidge an' Mista Ridgways take an' th'ow they money aroun'! New necktie ev'y time you see 'em; new straw hat right spang the firs' warm day.
This last almost pleadingly. A moment more of silence and Ambrose's deep voice boomed forth in the darkness. "Ah's willin'," he declared. "Anythin' dat now appears will be mah doin' ten minits is all Ah asks. Am dat sat'sfact'ry?" "Yaas," replied the voice of Behemoth Scott. "Go ahaid wif yo' sperit-summonin', Mista Travis."
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