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Updated: May 9, 2025
Roxy added, "if poor Mr. Wonnell could set me free, I think I might pity him enough to be his wife." Samson used his opportunity to stretch out his hand and take Virgie's, while she indulged the wild dream. "Dis han' is too purty," he said, "to be worn by a slave. Let me make it free."
Meshach bowed his head, gliding along as if bashfully anxious to pass. "Nice weather for drivin'!" added Jack Wonnell, having also taken off his own tile of frivolity, to feel the effect; but this remark was regarded by the group as too forward, and a low chorus ran round of "Jack Wonnell can't help bein' a fool to save his life!"
Wonnell, what do you put yourself at sech pains fur to 'blige a pore slave girl that ain't but half white? I thought a minute, so as to say something that wouldn't skeer her off, an' I says: 'Roxy, it's becaze I'm sech a pore, worthless feller that the white gals won't look at me! The tears come right to her eyes, an' she says: 'Mr.
Will he who gave me life never call me his, and say, 'My daughter, come to my respect, rest on my heart, and take my name'?" "Poor Virgie!" sighed Mary; "remember we are black! We hardly ever have fathers: they is for white people." "Dog my hide!" mumbled Wonnell, above, "ef a bird ain't a perwerse critter. Purty Roxy won't think I'm smart a bit ef I can't make Tom say 'Roxy, Roxy, Roxy!
The people said that Jack Wonnell, being a poor man, could not buy all the fashions, and was merely wearing out a bargain; that he knew he was ridiculous, and set no such conceit on his absurdity as that grim Milburn; and they rather enjoyed his playing the Dromio to that Antipholus, and turning into farce the comedy of Meshach's error.
"No, boy, cotton is a plant, growin' like a raspberry on a bush, havin' pushed the blossoms off an' burst the pods below 'em, an' thar it is fur niggers to pick it. Thar's a Yankee in Georgey made a cotton-gin to gin it clean, an' now all the world wants some of it." "Some of the gin?" asked the irrelevant Wonnell. "No, some of the cotton, Doctor Green! They can't git enough of it.
Wonnell, I would like to have a bunch of magnoleys to put on Miss Vesty's toilet every day. 'I'll git 'em fur you, Roxy, says I, 'becaze I allus thought you was a little beauty. Says she: 'I'd give most anything to surprise Miss Vesty with flowers every day, rale wild ones! 'Then, says I, 'Roxy, I'll git' em fur you for a kiss! An' she most a-blushed blood-red an' ran away."
You never git no money." "Won't he give it to me? Him?" Jack Wonnell indicated the hatchway down which Joe Johnson had gone. "He's got bags of it." "Him? Why, Jack, how much money do you s'pose a beautiful servant like Roxy will fetch?" "Won't that piece he's gwyn to give you buy her?" "Five dollars? Why, you poor fool, she will bring five hundred dollars maybe thousands.
Jack Wonnell had paid the penalty of being out of fashion. The mocking-bird, aroused by the loud report, leaped into the empty window-sill to seek his tutor, and set up the lesson he had learned too late: "Poor Jack! Poor Jack! Roxy! Roxy! Roxy!" came screaming on the night, and all was still.
He t-t-urned from his preachin' at last, right on King Custis, an' he pinted his f-finger at him straight. The p-preacher was L-l-lorenzo Dow." "Wheoo!" Jack Wonnell exclaimed, with a coinciding grin; "I've hearn of him: a Yankee-faced feller, like a woman, with long braids an' curls of hair fallin' around of his breast an' back, and a ole straw hat, rain or shine."
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