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Updated: June 8, 2025
As Peter moved for the door she warned him: "Peter, you knows ef Tump Pack sees you, he's gwine to shoot you sho!" "Oh, no he won't; that's Tump's talk." "Talk! talk! Whut's matter wid you, Peter? Dat nigger done git crowned fuh killin' fo' men!" She stood staring at him with white eyes. Then she urged, "Now, look heah, Peter, come along an' eat yo' supper." "No, I really need a walk.
Still, it struck him that it would not be precisely the thing to call on Cissie immediately after Tump's arrest. It might look as if Then the thought came that, as a neighbor, he should stop and tell Cissie of Tump's misfortune. He really ought to offer his services to Cissie, if he could do anything. At Cissie's request he might even aid Tump Pack himself.
He was trying to uncover the verbal camouflage by which the astute white brushed away all rights of all black men whatsoever. To Peter there grew up something sadly comical in Tump's efforts. The big negro might well typify all the colored folk of the South, struggling in a web of law and custom they did not understand, misplacing their suspicions, befogged and fearful.
Hooker at his ledger. "I don' think you'll make no mistake in buyin', Peter," repeated Tump's bass. Peter turned back a little uncertainly, and asked how long it would take to fix the new deed. He had a notion of making a flying canvass of the officers of the Sons and Daughters in the interim. He was surprised to find that Mr.
For some reason Peter felt that he should assume Tump's place as Cissie Dildine's husband and protector. Had Tump lived, Peter might have gone North in peace, if not in happiness. Now such a journey, without Cissie, had become impossible. He had a feeling that it would not be right. As for the disgrace of marrying such a woman as Cissie Dildine, Peter slowly gave that idea up.
Here Jim Pink yelped into honest laughter at Tump's undoing so that dust got into his nose and mouth and set him sneezing and coughing. "How long's he up for?" asked Peter, astonished and immensely relieved at this outcome of Tump's expedition against himself. Jim Pink controlled his coughing long enough to gasp: "Th-thutty days, ef he don' run off," and fell to laughing again.
Tump's violence showed Peter the certainty of his own death, and somehow it washed away the hope and the thought of escape. Half-way down the hill they entered the edge of Niggertown. The smell of sties and stables came to them. Peter's thoughts moved here and there, like the eyes of a little child glancing about as it is forced to leave a pleasure-ground.
Tump's intellectual method was to talk sense just long enough to gain his companion's ear, and then produce something absurd and quash the tentative interest. Siner turned away from him and said, "Piffle." Tump was defensive at once. "'T ain't piffle, either! I's talkin' sense, nigger."
Peter puzzled over it time and time again as he waited in Hooker's Bend for the outcome of Cissie's trial. The octoroon's imprisonment came to an end on the third day after Tump's death. Sam Arkwright's parents had not known of their son's legal proceedings, and Mr. Arkwright immediately quashed the warrant, and hushed up the unfortunate matter as best he could.
Y' see, Mr. Throgmartin tried to hire Tump to pick cotton. Tump didn't haf to, because he'd jes shot fo' natchels in a crap game. So to-day, when Tump starts over heah wid his gun, Mr. Bobbs 'resses Tump. Mr. Throgmartin bails him out, so now Tump's gone to pick cotton fuh Mr. Throgmartin to pay off'n his fine."
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