“YER come Uncle Remus,” said a well-dressed negro, who was
standing on the sidewalk near James’s bank recently, talking to a
crowd of barbers. “Yer come Uncle Remus. I boun’ he’ll sign it.”
“You’ll fling yo’ money away ef you bet on it,” responded Uncle
Remus. “I ain’t turnin’ nothin’ loose on chu’ch ’scriptions. I wants
money right now fer ter git a pint er meal.”
“’Tain’t dat.”
“An’ I ain’t heppin fer ter berry nobody. Much’s I kin do ter keep de
bref in my own body.”
“’Tain’t dat, nudder.”
“An’ I ain’t puttin’ my han’ ter no reckommends. I’m fear’d
fer ter say a perlite wud ’bout myself, an’ I des know I ain’t gwine
’roun’ flatfer’n up deze udder niggers.”
“An’ ’tain’t dat,” responded the darkey, who held a paper in his
hand. “We er gittin’ up a Good Tempeler’s lodge, an’ we like ter git
yo’ name.”
“Eh-eh, honey! I done see too much er dis nigger tempunce. Dey
stan’ up mighty squar’ ontwell dere dues commence ter cramp um,
an’ dey don’t stan’ de racket wuf a durn. No longer’n yistiddy I seed
one er de head men er one er dese Tempeler’s s’cieties totin’ water
fer a bar-room. He had de water in a bucket, but dey ain’t no tellin’
how much red licker he wuz a totin’. G’long, chile—jine yo’ s’ciety
an’ be good ter yo’se’f. I’m a gittin’ too ole. Gimme th’ee er fo’
drams endurin’ er de day, an’ I’m mighty nigh ez good a tempunce
man ez de next un. I got ter scuffle fer sump’n t’eat.”
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