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Updated: June 7, 2025
He tried to speak at an ordinary tempo, but his words kept edging on faster and faster: "Tump, I'm not going to marry Cissie Dildine." "I knows you ain't, Peter." "I mean, if you let me alone, I didn't mean to." "I ain't goin' to let you alone." "Tump, we had already decided not to marry."
As Peter strolled down the street with Cissie, admiring her brooch, and suffused with a sense of her nearness, he happened to glance up, and saw Tump Pack walk down the stage-plank, come out, and wait for them at the gate.
"My mother wrote me; about your getting it, Tump. I was glad to hear it." The brown man nodded, and stared down at the bit of gold on his barrel- like chest. "Yas-suh, dat 'uz guv to me fuh bravery. You know whut a skeery lil nigger I wuz roun' Hooker's Ben'; well, de sahgeant tuk me an' he drill ever' bit o' dat right out 'n me.
Such rank superiority irritated the soldier to the nth power. "Look heah, black man, I knows I is right. Heah, lonme look at dat-aiuh, deed. Maybe I can find 'em. I knows I suttinly is right." Peter walked on, paying no attention to the request Until Tump caught his arm and drew him up short.
His audience howled with mirth at this dumb show of the bayonet-fight and of killing four men. Tump himself got up out of the dust with tears of laughter in his eyes. Peter caught the end of his sentence, "Sho put it to 'em, black boy. Fo' white men " His audience roared again, swayed around, and pounded one another in an excess of mirth.
And life being problematic and uncertain as it is, and prone to wind about in the strangest way, no one may say with certitude that young Sam did not make a promising start. Tump Pack became almost a mythical figure in Niggertown. Jim Pink Staggs composed a saga relating the soldier's exploits in France, his assault on the jail to liberate Cissie, and his death.
Although he was an unhandsome little man, his expression was that of one at peace with man and God and was pleasant to see. He had been so excited by the minister that he was constrained to say something even to two negroes. So as he unlocked the little one-story bank, he told Tump and Peter that he had been listening to a man who was truly a man of God.
The officer bit on a sliver of toothpick that he held in his thin lips. "Accident up Jonesboro las' night, Peter." "What was it, Mr. Bobbs?" "Tump Pack got killed." Peter continued looking fixedly at Mr. Bobbs's broad red face. The dusty road beneath him seemed to give a little dip. He repeated the information emptily, trying to orient himself to this sudden change in his whole mental horizon.
Here Jim Pink broke into genuine laughter, which was quite a different thing from his stage grimaces. Peter stared at the fool astonished. "Has he gone to jail?" "Not prezactly." "Well confound it! exactly what did happen, Jim Pink?" "He gone to Mr. Cicero Throgmartins'." "What did he go there for?" "Couldn't he'p hisse'f." "Look here, you tell me what's happened." "Mr. Bobbs ca'ied Tump thaiuh.
"Owin' to whut you call se'ius; maybe whut I call se'ius wouldn't be se'ius to you at all; 'n 'en maybe whut you call se'ius would be ve'y insince'ius to Tump." The roustabout's philosophy, which consisted in a monotonous recasting of a given proposition, trickled on and on in the cold wind.
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