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"De creetur des walk roun' en roun' de tree, en ain't make no answer. Den Brer Wolf hail 'im ag'in, en talk like he mighty mad: "'Ain't you gwine ter min' me, you imperdent scoundul? Ain't you gwine ter mozey outer my woods en let my tree 'lone?
He made a threatening gesture and Kintchin, backing further off, cried out, "Doan rush me, suh. Ef I'se er scoundul you hatter give me time. Er scoundul hatter be keerful whut he say. I seed Mr. Starbuck dis mawnin', suh." Peters turned as if to go out, but halted and looked at Kintchin. The old negro nodded. "Say, is that young feller and that woman here yit?" "Gimmy time gimmy time.
I's er scoundul, you know." "Do you want me to mash your head?" Kintchin put his hand to his head. "Whut, dis one right yere? No, suh, I doan blebe I does." "Well, then answer me. That woman and young chap here yet?" "Yas, suh, da's yere." "She's his aunt, I understand." "Yas, suh, dat's whut you un'erstand." "Why did they come here? What are they doin'?" "Gimmy time.
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