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Updated: May 24, 2025
I gwine on a weddin'-trip down ter Pine Bluff, an' I wants time ter pick out a few little weddin'-presents to fetch home ter Pete." "Pete!" I cried. "Pete is going with you, of course?" "Pete gwine wid me? Who sesso? No, ma'am! Why, missy, how would it look fur me ter go a-skylarkin' roun' de country wid Pete an' me in mo'nin'? "No, indeedy!
This morning when the boys came to get their letters the general factotum said excitedly: "I done pring de letters, what dey was of dem dis mo'nin' but ef dey was any come las' night yo' won' get 'em 'cause de post-office was buglariously entahed some time in de night an' letters an' stamps an' money done took o't."
That's sure fair enough," Clay went on easily. "Well, I didn't come to talk to you about that. I've got other business with you this mo'nin'." The chauffeur looked at him sullenly and silently. "Suppose we get inside the cab where we can talk comfortably," Clay proposed. "Say, I'll stay right where I'm at," announced "Slim" Jim. The cattleman opened the cab door.
Bob shouted cheerfully. "Number Three's sure a-hittin' her up. She's no cougher stays right steady on the job. Bet I've wallowed in a million barrels of the stuff since mo'nin'." He waded through a viscid pool to Dave and asked a question in a low voice. "What's the good word?" "We had a little luck," admitted Sanders, then plumped out his budget of news.
Ah know they is, 'cos Ah cut mah finger openin' a can fo' M'lissy this mo'nin'. Yes, they's cake, too. You, Hamp, that size is fifteen!" As Friedrich approached, a laugh went up at the expense of 'Gene Frady, who had taken a bag of each size. "Watch out which one 'Gene gives his wife," cried Bud, sarcastically.
"Dey's on'y one leavin' heah daily, an' hit goes at six in de mo'nin'. One train a day! Ain' 'at scan'lous?" "I'm sure, Aunt Fanny, it is their business not ours," said Beverly severely. "P'raps dey mought be runnin' a excuhsion 'roun' 'baout Septembeh, Miss Bev'ly," speculated Aunt Fanny consolingly. "Dey gen'ly has 'em in Septembeh." "You old goose," cried Beverly, in spite of herself.
You all layin' 'roun', snoozin' w'en you all des' pint'ly know dis is de mo'nin' Mistah Frank go 'way f'om hyeah." It was a cool Autumn morning, fresh and dew-washed. The sun was just rising, and a cool clear breeze was blowing across the land. The blue smoke from the "house," where the fire was already going, whirled fantastically over the roofs like a belated ghost.
"Mam' Henry," said Aunt Sophy, impressively, "you's a' oldah ooman den I is, an' I ain' sputin' hit; but I say dey done 'filled Scripter 'bout de mo'nin' stahs; dey's done sung deyse'ves togeddah." The old woman sniffed. The next Sunday at meeting some one got the start of Gideon, and began a new hymn. It ran: "At de ma'ige of de Lamb, oh Lawd, God done gin His 'sent.
But dat mo'nin' I got to steadyin' an' aftah while I sot down an' all my troubles come to my min'. I sho' has a heap o' trouble. I jes' sot thaih a-steadyin' 'bout 'em an' a-steadyin' tell bime-by, hyeah you comes. "No, ma'am, I wasn't 'sleep. I's mighty apt to nod w'en I's a-thinkin'. It's a kin' o' keepin' time to my idees. But bless yo' soul I wasn't 'sleep.
"I seed a strange mulatter man, with a bay hoss an' a new buggy, drivin' by here this mo'nin' early, from down to'ds the river," rejoined Mis' Molly. "I wonder if that wuz him?" "Did he have on a linen duster?" asked Mary B. "Yas, an' 'peared to be a very well sot up man," replied Mis' Molly, "'bout thirty-five years old, I should reckon."
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