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Updated: June 21, 2025
However, the Professor, though he was really enjoying the situation, looked anything but amiable. "I'll try the crowd, anyway," thought Stacy, ruefully. "I've got to get near the kitchen kit soon. Hello, the camp!" There was no response. Stacy emerged from his hiding place and began to sing the song he had learned from Rastus Rastus in Kentucky. One end of the tent was suddenly raised.
"Oh, please, good Mistah Pencilguins, I didn't mean no harm," roared Rastus, who seemed to think the human-looking birds could understand him. "Go afta' de perfusser, it was him dat tole me youalls tasted lak chicking." "Stop that, you greedy black rascal," retorted the professor, laying about him with the egg-basket.
The storm of passion in the eyes, the underlying flush in the dusky cheeks, indicated a new mood in his experience of this young woman of many moods. "Come in and shut the door," she ordered. Then, "Tell him, 'Rastus." The boy, all smiles gone now, repeated his story, and was excused. "What do you think of that, Brill?" the girl demanded, after the door had closed on him.
None coming, one Sunday morning he urged 'Rastus to go with him on a fishing trip, carry bait, fish if he wanted to, and make himself generally useful. With unrelieved gloom "Mistah Breckenridge" accepted the invitation, and the two left the city behind them, and sought the peace of wood and stream and broad, overarching sky.
"Dis heyah registrashum fo' de draf' am a whole lot like 'lection votin', ain't it?" he asked uncertainly. "Yes," answered the kindly registrar. Rastus scratched his head in troubled doubt. He was thinking deeply. Presently his brow cleared and a smile spread over his face. He had come to a decision. "Den I votes for Julius Jackson ter be drafted," he said. "I nebah did hab no use fo' dat niggah."
"Does yo' heah dat, Rastus?" she called to her husband. "Dere's a flood an' we's done got to run out! Git up an' open de do' an' I'll roust up de chilluns!" "I'll open the do, Ma," said Jeff, slipping out of his bed, and as he swung the door open there stood a policeman. "Come, boy; lively!" cried the officer. "You were long enough answering my knock. You've all got to leave here!
'What ar-re ye doin' here? says th' Englishman. 'Robbin' th' naygurs, says th' Fr-rinchman, bein' thruthful as well as polite. 'Wicked man, says th' Englishman. 'What ar-re ye doin' here? says the Fr-rinchman. 'Improvin' the morals iv th' inhabitants, says th' Englishman. 'Is it not so, Rastus? he says. 'It is, says wan iv th' kings. 'I'm a poorer but a betther man since ye came, he says.
'Rastus Calhoun Breckenridge. The bride was tall, thin, chocolate-colored, serious, and hard-working. She toiled as steadily and as indefatigably as her husband, and to the most cynical observer it was plain that she loved him and valued him even at his worth.
If one wants to reach over the edge of a sheer precipice and crop a mouthful of grass, his rider may just as well let him reach. Mules seldom commit suicide, although at times the incentive must be strong. "Powder River," "Dishpan," "Rastus," and a few other equally hardy mule brethren are allotted to carry helpless fat tourists down the trail.
In her better hours she talked to him, telling him stories about the other patients, anecdotes of nurses and doctors, and mimicking several luckless victims to the life. It was six weeks before Hannah died, very suddenly, and in one of her paroxysms of suffering. 'Rastus was with her at the end, as he had been during the hard weeks preceding it.
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