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Updated: June 1, 2025
Somebody sassed you or you getting homesick? "'No, Mr. Peters, says she. 'I'll tell you. You was always a friend of Zeke's, and I don't mind. Mr. Peters, I'm in love. I just love a man so hard I can't bear not to get him. He's just the ideal I've always had in mind. "'Then take him, says I. 'That is, if it's a mutual case.
"He'll be putting on veteran airs, telling big stories of what he's going to do when soldiers are wanted, and drilling such fools as believe in him. Young gals are often taken by such strutters, and think that men like Jarvis, who darsn't speak for themselves, are of no account. But I'll put a spoke in Zeke's wheel, if I have to get the captain to write."
He heard Zeke fumbling in the bushes, saw the light switch into the fence corner, then across the pool; and then he heard a cry, a low cry of terror, and caught a glimpse of something white on the ground, near a big tree. And then Zeke's voice, "Fo' Gawd!" and the light switched off and someone came hurrying toward him in the darkness. "Come on, Mist' Joe. Le's git away fum heah!"
So if you understood as much about Zeke's history as you do about the Pyramids, you'd settle some of the biggest disputes in theology and ethnology and anthropology and a lot of other "ologies," which have something more or less to do with the salvation and damnation of the soul. How is it known that Zeke is a type of a race, and not a freak specimen of a dwarf?
The Touch-me-not made two successful voyages under Zeke's command, and was home again and discharging beside the Town Quay, when, one summer's day, as John Penaluna leaned on his pitchfork beside a heap of weeds arranged for burning he glanced up and saw Captain Tangye hobbling painfully towards him across the slope.
"Where were you and Mr. Bushrod last night?" he ventured on a bold stroke. Zeke's eyes opened wide. "Why, we wusn' no place, Mist' Joe, Mist' Bushrod, he I was to bring him he and I wuz to have a little bisnis ovah to de house, but I couldn' come." His face clouded and took on an anxious look. "Dey ain' no trubbel, is dey, Mist' Joe?"
On both sides of the road the woods were encroaching and the only light was the feeble one cast by the single uncertain lamp of the car. It barely seemed to puncture the black. "Mist' Bushrod ain' been home?" came Zeke's voice. The idea was beginning to have effect. "Not since yesterday morning." For another interval, silence, and then: "Whuh Mist' Bushrod gone? Reckon he gone to Louisville?"
Ask him if I can't have him arrested for assault and battery. It's likely he's at Frank Dunbar's now. We'll have him back before the day is out, and then I'll see he don't get out!" "All right, dad! As soon as I've had breakfast I'll go." The result of Zeke's message was that Squire Pope hurried over to the poorhouse and held a conference with Mr. and Mrs. Tucker.
"Shut up, Zeke!" said his father, observing from the squire's expression that he did not fancy Zeke's interference. "All right, dad," said Zeke good-naturedly, seeing that things had turned out as he desired. "Jump in!" said Mr. Tucker to Philip. Our hero, without a word, obeyed.
Here a large brown horse and brougham came around the driveway into sight. Zeke's eyes turned curiously toward the guests, but he sat stiffly immovable. The broker rose. "I must go now or I shall miss my train. Think it over. There's only one way to think about it. It is quite evidently the thing to do.
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