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Updated: June 26, 2025


He sot up in de loft of his ole sto' readin' de Bible upside down to git de debbil's frenship. De debbil come in one night, and says to ole Meshach: 'Yer's my hat! Go, take it, honey, and measure land wid it, and all de land you measure is yo's, honey! An' Meshach's measured mos' all dis county in. Jedge Custis's land is de last."

What he was up to, I had not the remotest idea; but when he had barricaded and sealed every crack and cranny, he lighted a candle and set it on a saucer and glared at me ferociously. "Mind you, boy," he said in a very low voice, "don't you think Ah'm any friend of yo's. No, sah. Don't you think Ah'm doing nothin' foh you. No, sah. 'Cause Ah ain't. No, sah.

"Oh, come, now, don't get huffy," yawned Evarts, who had not taken the trouble to rise. "I'm not afraid of you, Tar." "Stop dat!" cried the black angrily. "Yo's takin' big chances, yo' is." "You're big and powerful, I know that," grinned Evarts. "But I have something with me that makes me just the same size as you are, or perhaps a little bigger. See this!"

Hortense doted on ginger cookies. "De's de jar," said Aunt Esmerelda, pointing to a big crock on the pantry shelf. "Whenevah yo's hongry, jes' yo' he'p yo'se'f." Hortense sat on a chair in the corner, out of the way, and watched Aunt Esmerelda cook. "What was the thing you and Uncle Jonah heard?" she asked at last abruptly. "Wha's dat?" Aunt Esmerelda said, dropping a saucepan with a clatter.

'Yo's a fast brack, an' dat's all dere is to hit. Ef all de watah an' soap yo' done use ain't take no particle of dat soot off'n yo' yit, dere ain't nottin' eber will remove it. "But yo' kyan't change a gal's natur. Pechunia done break her back ober de washtub ter earn de money to buy some o' dem make-up stuff, an' she goes down ter de drug sto' ter mak' her purchases.

Mose, yo's gwine to be a married man one of dese days yo'self, an' yo' wants a little cabin of yo' own; and ef yo' hoe dis row to de end an' circumwent dese 'spiring men, p'haps Mas'r LeMonde gwine give yo' de cabin an' Miss Viola gwine put lots o' nice tings in it. Dat's de proposition; an', Mose, yo' got to keep yo' wooly head mighty cool an' calc'lating.

While he talked, Prebol slyly watched his listener and thought for a long time that Rasba was merely dumbfounded by the atrocities, but at last the Prophet grinned: "An' yo's a riveh rat. Ho law!" "Why, I didn't say " Prebol began, but his words faltered. "Yo' know right smart about such things," Rasba reminded him.

And, at fifty, she was not merely buxom, but short and fat in the Polynesian peasant way, with a constitution and lack of organic weakness that promised incalculable years. But it was at fifty that she strayed, quite by chance of time and curiosity, into Abel Ah Yo's revival meeting. Now Abel Ah Yo, in his theology and word wizardry, was as much mixed a personage as Billy Sunday.

"Are yuh starin' at me?" he rasped. "Walk away, or get in one o' the two. Yuh'll kill my luck." "Pahdon me, sah. I don't think I could kill such luck as yo's." The Kid's voice was full of soothing politeness. The gambler made the mistake of thinking the stranger in awe of him. Many a man before him had taken the Texan's soft, drawling speech the wrong way. "Well, are yuh gettin' in the game?"

He seemed to regard himself as a third person, and this is the way he told it, heat by heat: "Fus' heat, Ben Butler Now if we can manage to save our distance an' leave the flag a few yards, we'll be doin' mighty well. Long time since you stretched them ole muscles of yo's in a race long time an' they're tied up and sore. Ever' heat'll be a wuck out to you till you git hot.

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