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Updated: May 19, 2025
Yo' pa gone back dah to de F'enchmun, whuh he 'uz a young man. He mighty sick, an' he scairt, honey; an' he ain' goin' git ovah dat, neider. 'Peah to me, Missy, like he done had a vizhum er he own soul, when he come an' look down at dat young man layin' on de grass, las' night!"
Me sall no do boast of dat neider: for what can me do oderwise dan consider of de good of dose poor people who go about all day to give me always de best of what dey get. Dey love and honour me darefore, because me do love and take care of dem; dat is all, me know no oder reason.
"Marse Scoville daid, shot of'n he hoss long way f'um yere," replied Aun' Jinkey sorrowfully. "He kyant harm you ner you 'im no mo', ner Chunk neider." "Why the devil didn't you let us know Chunk was here las' night?" "He my gran'son," was the simple reply. "Well he isn't Zany's grandson! Now I know w'at she was snoopin' round nights fer, en Mrs. Baron'll know, too, 'fore I'm five minutes older."
Reserve again made flinty the boy's face. "Neider did I talk about my feelings," continued Max Vogel, "but I nefer show them too quick. If I was injured I wait, and I strike to kill. We all paddles our own dugout, eh? We ask no favors from nobody; we must win our spurs! Not so? Now I talk business with you where you interroopt me.
I bait yo' she git up when she ter home, and I bait yo' she ain't gitting somebody ter dress her, an' wait on her han' an' foot like Mandy done been a-doin' sense yistiddy; ner she ain' been keepin' better folks a-waiting fer dey meals. I'se pintedly put out wid de way things is been gwine in dis hyer 'stablishmint fer de past two days, an' 's fur 's I kin see dey ain' gwine mend none neider.
"Gittin' too old!" exclaimed the colored man indignantly, for that was his sore point. "What yo'-all mean, Andy Foger? I ain't gittin' old, an' neider am Boomerang." "Oh, I thought you were, as you haven't been on any trips lately." "I ain't, hey? Well I's gwine on one right soon, let me tell you dat, Andy Foger!" "No! Is that so? Glad to hear it. Up to the North Pole I suppose?"
I des 'proves dis 'casion ter 'zort you ter be keerful w'at you DOES. Dere's gwine ter be mighty ticklish times sorter flash-bang times, yer know. I'se a free man des ez free as air, en I'se hired mysef ter Marse Scoville ter wait on 'im. I'se growed up anuff ter know he kin tek de shine off eny man I eber see, or you neider. He yo' boss now well ez mine.
"How old are you, son?" "Nineteen, sir." "Oh my, that is offle young for the job I gif you. Some of dose man you go to boss might be your father. Und how much do you weigh?" "About a hundred and thirty." "Too light, too light. Und I haf keep my eye on you in Boise. You are not so goot a boy as you might be." "Well, sir, I guess not." "But you was not so bad a boy as you might be, neider.
"Naw, I dunno nut'n' 'bout dat. I look out for me and my boy, me. And beside," he abruptly threw away the staff he had trimmed, shut his knife with a snap, and thrust it into his pocket, "I dawn't see ed'cation make no diff'ence. You say ed'cation priest say religion me, I dawn't see neider one make no diff'ence. I see every man look out for hisself and his li'l' crowd.
How we help it, Masser Mile? As if a body can posserbly help how lub come and go! Lub jest like religion, Masser Mile some get him, and some don't. But lub for a young masser and a young missus, sah dat jest as nat'ral, as lub for ole masser and ole missus. I t'ink nut'in' of neider."
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