A CHARLESTON negro who was in Atlanta on the Fourth of July
made a mistake. He saw Uncle Remus edging his way through the
crowd, and thought he knew him.
Howdy, Daddy Ben? the stranger exclaimed. I tink I nubber see
you no mo. Wey you gwan? He hot fer true, aint he?
Daddy who? asked Uncle Remus, straightening himself up with
I know you in Charrson, an den in Sewanny. I spec I dun grow
away from membrance.
You knowed me in Charlstun, and den in Savanny?
He been long time, aint he, Daddy Ben?
Dats wats a pesterin un me. How much you reckon you knowd
He good while pas; when I wer pickaninny. He long time ago.
Wey you gwan, Daddy Ben?
Wat does you season your recollection wid fer ter make it hole on
so? inquired the old man.
I dunno. He stick hesef. I see you comm long n I say Dey
Daddy Ben. I tink I see you no mo, an I shaky you by de han.
Wey you gwan? Dey no place yer wey we git wine?
Uncle Remus stared at the strange darkey curiously for a moment,
and then he seized him by the arm.
Come yer, son, whar dey aint no folks an lemme drap some
Jawjy intment in dem years er yone. Youer mighty fur ways fum
home, an you wanter be a lookin out fer yosef. Fus and fomus,
youer thumpin de wrong watermillion. Youer wisslin up de
wrong chube. I aint tromped roun de country much. I aint bin
to Charlstun an needer is I tuck in Savanny; but you couldnt rig up
no game on me dat I wouldnt tumble on to it de minit I laid my
eyeballs on you. Wen hit come to dat Im ole man Tumbler, fum
TumblersvilleI is dat. Hit takes one er deze yer full-blooded wite
men fur ter trap my jedgment. But wen a nigger comes a jabberin
roun like he got a mouf full er rice straw, he aint got no mo
chance long side er me dan a sick sparrer wid a squinch-owl. You
gutter travel wid a circus fo you gits away wid me. You better go
long an git yo kyarpet-sack and skip de town. Youer de freshest
nigger wat I seen yit.
The Charleston negro passed on just as a police-man came up.
Boss, you see dat smart Ellick?
Yes, whats the matter with him?
Hes one er deze yer scurshun niggers from Charistun. I seed you a
stannin over agin de cornder yander, an ef dat niggerd a drawd his
monty kyards on me, I wuz a gwineter holler fer you. Would youer
Why, certaiuly, Uncle Remus.
Dats wat I lowd. Little moren hed a bin aboard er de wrong
waggin. Dats Wat hed a bin.