“UNC REMUS,” asked a tall, awkward-looking negro, who was
one of a crowd surrounding the old man, “w’at’s dish ’ere w’at dey
calls de fonygraf—dish yer inst’ument w’at kin holler ’roun’ like little
chillun in de back yard?”
“I ain’t seed um,” said Uncle Remus, feeling in his pocket for a
fresh chew of tobacco. “I ain’t seed tim, but I year talk un um. Miss
Sally wuz a readin’ in de papers las’ Chuseday, an’ she say dat’s it’s
a mighty big watchyonmaycollum.”
‘A mighty big w’ich?” asked one of the crowd.
“A mighty big w’atzisname,” answered Uncle Remus, cautiously. “I
wuzent up dar close to whar Miss Sarah wuz a readin’, but I kinder
geddered in dat it wuz one er deze ’ere w’atzisnames w’at you
hollers inter one year an it comes out er de udder. Hit’s mighty
funny unter me how dese fokes kin go an’ proguosticate der
eckoes inter one er dez yer i’on boxes, an’ dar hit’ll stay on twel de
man comes long an’ tu’ns de handle an’ let’s de fuss come pilin’ out.
Bimeby deyll git ter makin’ sho’ nuff fokes, an’ den dere’ll be a
racket ’roun’ here. Dey tells me dat it goes off like one er deze yer
torpedoes.”
“You year dat, don’t you?” said one or two of the younger negroes.
“Dat’s w’at dey tells me,” continued Uncle Remus. “Dat’s w’at dey
sez. Hit’s one er deze yer kinder w’atzisnames w’at sasses back w’en
you hollers at it.”
“W’at dey fix um fer, den?” asked one of the practical negroes.
“Dat’s w’at I wanter know,” said Uncle Remus, contemplatively.
“But dat’s w’at Miss Sally wuz a readin’ in de paper. All you gotter
do is ter holler at de box, an’ dar’s yo’ remarks. Dey goes in, an’ dar
dey er tooken and dar dey hangs on twel you shakes de box, an’
den dey draps out des ez fresh ez deze yer fishes w’at you git fum
Savannah, an’ you ain’t got time fer ter look at dere gills, nudder.”
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