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Updated: June 5, 2025
Why, say, you could take little ol' meachin' Germany and tuck it away in a corner of Texas and you wouldn't any more know it was there than if it was somebody's poor no-'count ranch. Why, Big Y ranch alone would make the whole country of Germany look like a cattle grazin' patch. It was bigger than all those countries in Europe strung together, and every man in Texas would rather fight than eat.
She objected decidedly to any more of "them no-'count men bein' sot free," and was very doubtful whether any more of her own sex should be so favored, except "settled women." I do not know whether Mammy had a lurking suspicion that general manumission meant competition or not. So far as I could make out, she fared as she had long elected to do.
"Yes, seh, I's had champagne, and it's a nice kind of lickeh sho enough; but, Misteh Stuhk, seh, I don' want any of them high-tone drinks to-night, an' ef yo' don' mind, I'd rather amble off 'lone, or mebbe eat that po'k-chop with some otheh cullud man, ef I kin fin' one that ain' one of them no-'count Carolina niggers. Do you s'pose yo' could let me have a little money to-night, Misteh Stuhk?"
"If what?" "You seem powerful eager to know what'll worry M'lissy." "If ye don' know what worries people ye cain' know how to help 'em." Pink was suavity itself. "If what?" "Ah was goin' to say, specially 'f she knowed it was you-all Ah owed hit to." "Lemme tell ye somethin' right now, Bud: M'lissy wouldn' fin' everybody clever 'nough to len' money to a no-'count feller like you.
He wouldn't have let no w'ite boy fall into that branch no, sir. But these no-'count other young ones didn't know 'nough to tell yo' that that ain't the way to catch catfish." "I found out myself," admitted Russ rather ruefully. Rose came to the door and begged to know if Russ was all right. "He's going to be just as soon as I get him made a hot drink," declared Mammy June.
Those months when I used to see your mother's carriage drive by the house twice a day and me crying my eyes out behind the curtains. That's what I've never forgiven myself for. She was a woman who stood for fine things in New Orleans. A good woman whom the whole town pitied! A no-'count son squandering her fortune and dragging down the family name. If only I had known all that then!
Now, thahs Jake Simmons, a lazy, no-'count skunk whut won't even tote in a back log to keep his fambly frum freezin'. He's got religion ha'f a dozen times, an' teks on a leetle crazier ev'ry time.
"Mars' Colby stick his fo'k in de goose an' heave him over in de plattah. Glo-ree! dar de under side ob dat goose were all nice an' brown; but dar warn't no sign ob a laig erpon hit! "'Wha' dis? Wha' dis? Mars' Colby cry. 'Who been a-tamperin' wid dis goose? Sen' dat no-'count Sally Alley in yeah dis minute! he say to one ob de waitresses. "Glo-ree! how scar't we all was.
"I hope, now," he exclaimed, alarmed, "ez that thar triflin' no-'count Thad Grimes ain't a-goin' ter let my filly lame herself, nor nothin', a-travelin' with her this dark night, ez seems ter be a night fur things ter happen on ennyhow. Oh, shucks! shucks!" he continued impatiently, "I jes' feels like thar ain't no use o' my tryin' ter live along."
He'll be a reg'lar town man 'fore long, I reckon, dandified an' sniptious ez the nex' one, marryin' one o' them finified town gals ez wear straw hats stiddier sunbonnets, though they do look ter be about ez flimsy an' no-'count cattle ez any I ever see," the sterling rural standpoint modifying his relish of Walter's frivolous worldly opportunities.
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