“LOOK; yer, boy,” said Uncle Remus yesterday, stopping near the
railroad crossing on Whitehall Street, and gazing ferociously at a
small colored youth; “look yer, boy, I’ll lay you out flat ef you
come flingin’ yo’ watermillion rimes under my foot—you watch ef I
don’t. You k’n play yo’ pranks on deze yer w’ite fokes, but w’en you
come a cuttin’ up yo’ capers roun me youil ian’ right in de middle
uv er spell er sickness—now you mine w’at I tell you. An’ I ain’t
gwine fer ter put up wid none er yo’ sassness nudder—let ’lone
flingin’ watermillion rimes whar I kin git mixt up wid um. I done
had nuff watermillions yisfiddy an’ de day befo’.”
“How was that, Uncle Remus?” asked a gentleman standing near.
“Hit wuz sorter like dis, boss. Las’ Chuseday, Mars John he fotch
home two er deze yer Flurridy watermillions, an him an’ Miss Sally
sot down fer ter eat tim. Mars John an’ Miss Sally ain’t got nuthin’
dat’s too good fer me, an’ de fus news I know’d Miss Sally wuz a
hollerin’ fer Remus. I done smelt de watermillion on de a’r, an’ I
ain’t got no better sense dan fer ter go w’en I years w’ite fokes a
hollerin’—I larnt dat w’en I wa’n’t so high. Leas’ways I galloped up
ter de back po’ch, an’ dar sot de watermillions dez ez natchul ez ef
dey’d er bin raised on de ole Spivey place in Putmon County. Den
Miss Sally, she cut me off er slishe—wunner deze yer ongodly
slishes, big ez yo’ hat, an’ I sot down on de Steps an’ wrop myse’f
roun’ de whole blessid chunk, ’cepin’ de rime” Uncle Remus
paused and laid his hand upon his stomach as if feeling for
something.
“Well, old man, what then?”
“Dat’s w’at I’m a gittin’ at, boss,” said Uncle Remus, smiling a
feeble smile. “I santered roun’ ’bout er half nour, an den I begin fer
ter feel sorter squeemish—sorter like I done bin an, swoller’d ’bout
fo’ poun’s off’n de ruff een’ uv er scantlin’. Look like ter me dat I
wuz gwineter be sick, an’ den hit look like I wuzent. Bimeby a
little pain showed ’is head an’ sorter m’andered roun’ like he wuz a
lookin’ fer a good place fer ter ketch holt, an’ den a great big pain
jump up an’ take atter de little one an’ chase ’im ’roun’ an’ ’roun,’ an’
he mus’ er kotch ’im, kaze bimeby de big pain retch down an’ grab
dis yer lef’ leg—so—an’ haul ’im up, an’ den he retch down an grab de
udder one an’ pull him up, an’ den de wah begun, sho nuff. Fer
mighty nigh fo’ hours dey kep’ up dat racket, an’ des ez soon ez a
little pain ’ud jump up de bigun ’ud light onter it an’ gobble it up,
an’ den de big tin ’ud go sailin’ roun’ huntin’ fer mo’, some fokes is
mighty cu’us, dough. Nex’ mornin’ I hear Miss Sally a laughin’, an’
singin’ an’ a w’isslin’ des like dey want no watermillions raise in
Flurridy. But somebody better pen dis yer nigger boy up w’en I’m
on de town—I kin tell you dat.”
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