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"I don't care," said the boy, "I just love him." The negro shuffled out across the moonlit veranda, peered around through the fragrant gloom, wrinkled hands linked behind his back. Then he descended the steps stiffly, and teetered about through the shrubbery with the instinct of a watchdog worn out in service. "Nuff'n to scare nobody, scusin' de hoot owls," he muttered.

Dey won't give me rations dey give rations to young folks whas workin, but won't give me nary a mouthful." "Why is that?" "Well, dey wanted me to go to de poor house. I was willin to go, but I wanted to take my trunk along an dey wouldn't let me. I got some things in dere I been havin nigh onta a hunnert years. Got my old blue-back Webster, onliest book I ever had, scusin my Bible.

Dat's so." "I haven't much respect for mine," said Rupert; "I've had twenty-two too many just twenty-two." "'Scusin' me sayin' it, sah, but dat ain't no way ter talk. A man boun' to have some dispect for his birfday he boun' to! Birfdays gotter be took keer on. Whar's a man when he runs out of 'em?" "He'd better run out of them before he runs out of everything else," said Rupert.

Since then he'd been a grub-rider 'round the ranches, and dish-washer in hotels, and, 'scusin' your presence, Miss, worse than that but he hadn't no shame about it! "I liked the feller. He wasn't no good, but he had that persuasive way with him! And he knew so much more than me!

I got some things in dere I be'n havin' nigh onto a hunnert years. Got my ol' blue-back Webster, onliest book I evah had, 'scusin' mah Bible. Think I wanna th'ow dat away? No-o suh! So dey black-list me, 'cause I won't kiss dey feets. I ain't kissin nobody's, wouldn't kiss my own mammy's. I nevah see my mammy.

The aged negro rose, hat doffed, juicy traces of forbidden sapodillas on his face which he naïvely removed with the back of the blackest and most grotesquely wrinkled hand Hamil had ever seen. "Yaas-suh; 'scusin' de 'gator, wile-cat love de mud-fish mostest; yaas, suh. Ole torm-cat he fish de crick lak he was no 'count Seminole trash "

I slid up the window-shade and sat blinking at a flood of sunshine. "Telegram?" I said, yawning and rubbing my eyes. "Let me have it. All right, I'll be out presently. Shut that curtain! I don't want the entire car to criticise my pink pajamas!" "Ain' nobody in de cyar, 'scusin yo'se'f, suh," grinned the porter, retiring.

De way he put it, he wants all of his'n 'fore he starts. But me, Ise willin' to wait fur de bes' part of mine anyhow. So dat's how it stands, Mist' Rosen, an' 'scusin' you an' me an' dis yere white man an' your frien' in Memphis, dey ain't nary pusson gwine know nothin' 'bout it a-tall, 'ceptin' mebbe hit's de lion.

Yo' grandpa was the high-steppinist gentleman I ever seen in my life, but since you been goin' down among them mill folks and factory folks and takin' an intrus' in 'em, lookin' into how things is, some of them King Street people seem to think, scusin' of my sayin' it, that maybe it's yo' father's blood what's comin' out in you." Mary Cary laughed. "I hope it is.

The woman came in bowing and scraping to me, and the two little boys hid behind her skirts and peeked around at me with big white eyes. "Tell the gentleman," said Thatcher, "where you're going." "We're gwine to Canayda," said she, "'scusin' your presence." "How are you going to get to Canada?" asked Thatcher. "The good white folks," said she, "will keep us hid out nights till we gits thar."