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Updated: July 4, 2025
Reub's unusual vocabulary was largely the result of his intimate relations with his master, Judge Marshall, whose body-servant he had been for a number of years. The judge had long been dead now, and the plantation had descended to his son, the present incumbent.
"Cap'n," said Abner, taking off his cap and looking at it, as he fingered it. "I've got kinder tough news fer ye. Reub's dead. He died this mornin. I thort mebbe ye'd like ter see him." "Is he in there?" "Yes." Perez got off his horse, and went in at the door, Abner leading the way.
A common tribute paid Reub's pulpit eloquence by reverential listeners among his flock was, "Brer Tyler is got a black face, but his speech sho' is white." The truth was that in his humble way Reub' was something of a philologist. A new word was to him a treasure, so much stock in trade, and the longer and more formidable the acquisition, the dearer its possession.
Presently Abner came out with a very sober face and slowly approached him. He looked around. "What are we stopping here for, Abner?" he asked, a little peevishly. "Wy, it's the caounty jail, ye know, an we're lettin aout the debtors. Reub's in here, ye know." "So he is; I'd forgotten," replied Perez, and then after a pause, "Why don't he come out?"
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