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I made quite a fool of myself that day." "Yasser; en den w'en de man say sump'n' sassy back, little ez you wuz, you spurred de pony at 'im en tole 'im you'd slap 'im in de jaw. He 'uz de skeer'dest w'ite man I ever see. I say ter myse'f den dat I hope de day'd come w'en dat little boy'd grow up en buy me; en dat make I say w'at I does.
"Yasser," continued Uncle Remus, with an ominous sigh and mysterious shake of the head, "ef dey ain't some quare gwines on in dish yer naberhood, den I'm de ball-headest creetur 'twix' dis en nex' Jinawerry wuz a year 'go, w'ich I knows I ain't. Dat's what." "What is it, Uncle Remus?"
Nevertheless, he failed to rebuke the ill-timed mirth of the child, appearing to be altogether engrossed in his work. After a while, he resumed: "Yasser. Fokes dunner w'at bin yit, let 'lone w'at gwinter be. Niggers is niggers now, but de time wuz w'en we 'uz all niggers tergedder." "When was that, Uncle Remus?" "Way back yander.
"The mischief you did! Where do you find friends like that nowadays? But what on earth made you pop back here? To hear Hauser's play and see all the fireworks?" Tommy examined his toe with affected interest and shook his head. "What then? Don't you like it in New York?" "Yasser. Noo York's all right, it is." And reluctantly he added: "You be'n sick, ain't you?
George," said the negro in a grieved tone, "ef you could see me good you wouldn't set dar en say I'm a bad-lookin' nigger." "Are you really Blue Dave?" the young man asked, dropping his bantering tone and speaking seriously. "Yasser, Mars. George; I'm dat ve'y nigger." "What do you want with me?" "I des wanter tell you, Mars.
"W'iles I wuz crossin' de branch des now," he said, endeavoring to change the subject, "I come up wid a Jacky-my-lantern, en she wuz bu'nin' wuss'n a bunch er lightnin'-bugs, mon. I know'd she wuz a fixin' fer ter lead me inter dat quogmire down in de swamp, en I steer'd cle'r an' er. Yasser. I did dat. You ain't never seed no Jacky-my-lanterns, is you, honey?"
"Well, don't make any secret of it," said I. "Out with it!" exclaimed Harry. "Marse Harry, I done gone an' shot Marse Jack Bledsoe." "Good Lord!" cried Harry. "Yasser, I done shot 'im, an' he's bad hurt, too. You know dat las' time we went at um? Well, suh, I wuz shootin' at a man right at me, an' he knock my han' down des ez I pull de trigger, an' de ball cotch him right 'twix de hip an' de knee.
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