Moriah's Mourning and Other Half-Hour Sketches Part 12

"Brer Chesterfiel' Jones, please ter rise an' receive de thanks o' de congergation fur dat gen'rous five-dollar bill wha' you sont up by Brer Phil Dolittle."

He paused here, and feeling all eyes turned upon me, I was constrained to rise to my feet, and I think I can truly say that I have never been surprised by greater embarra.s.sment than I felt as I hurriedly subsided to the depths of my corner. Addressing himself now to Dolittle, Jordan continued:

"I 'ain't see you walk so biggoty in a _long_ time, Brer Dolittle, as you walked when you fetched up dat five dollars. Ef dis heah 'd been a cake walk yo'd o' tooken de prize, sho'.

"De nex' time dy' all gets up a cake walk on dis plantation, lemme advise you ter borry a five-dollar note _f'om somebody dat don't know yer_, ter tote when yer walk. Hit'll he'p yer ter keep yo' chin up.

"_An' dat ain't all_. Hit'll he'p _me_ ter keep _my chin up_ when I ca'ys dis greenback bill to de grocery to-morrer an' I'll turn it into a wheel, too--two wheels, wid a bulge between 'em. Now guess wha' dat is?"

The congregation were by this time convulsed with laughter, and some one answered aloud:

"A flour-bar'l!"

"Dat's it, Joe, a flour-bar'l! You's a good guesser.

"An' so now, in de name o' Col' Spring Chu'ch, Brer Jones, I thanks you ag'in fur a bar'l o' flour, an' I tecks it mighty kin' o' you too, 'caze I knows deys a heap o' 'Piscopalpalian preachers _wha' wouldn't o' done it!_ Dey'd be 'feerd dat ef dey gi'e any o' de high-risin'

'Piscopalpalian flour ter de Baptists dat dey'd ruin it wid _col'

water!_"

There was so much laughter here that Jordan had to desist for a moment, but he had not finished.

"_But_," he resumed, with renewed seriousness--"_But ef Christians on'y knowed it_, dey kin put a _little leaven o' solid Christianity_ in all de charity flour dey gi'es away, an' hit'll _leaven de whole lot_ so strong dat _too much water can't spile it_, nur _too much fire can't scorch it_, nur _too much fore-sight_ (ur whatever dis heah is de P'esberteriums mixes in dey bread) _can't set it so stiff it can't rise_, 'caze hit's got de strong leaven o' de spirit in it, an' hit's _boun' ter come up_!

"I see de sun's gitt'n low, an' hit's time ter let down de bars an'

turn de sheeps loose, an' de goats too--not sayin' deys any goats in dis flock, an' not sayin' dey ain't--but 'fo' we goes out, I wants ter say one mo' word ter Brer Dolittle."

His whole face was atwinkle with merriment now.

"Dey does say, Brer Dolittle, dat riches is mighty 'ceitful an'

mighty ap' ter turn a man's head, an' I tookin' notice dat arter you fetched up Brer Chesterfiel' Jones's five dollars to-day you nuver corndescended ter meck no secon' trip to de hat on Brer Dolittle's 'count.

"I did think I'd turn a searchin' glance on yer fur a minute an'

shame yer up heah, but you looked so happy an' so full o' biggoty I spared yer, but yer done had time ter cool off now, an' I 'bleeged ter bring yer ter de scratch.

"Now, ef you done teched de five-dollar notch an' can't git down, we'll git somebody ter loan'd yer a greenback bill ter fetch up, an'

whils' de congergation is meditatin' on dey sins I'll gi'e you back fo' dollars an' ninety-five cents."

Amid screams of laughter poor little Dolittle, a comical, wizen-faced old man, nervously secured a nickel from the corner of his handkerchief, and, grinning broadly, walked up with it.

"De ve'y leastest a man _kin_ do," Jordan continued, as leaning forward he presented the hat--"de ve'y _leastest_ he kin do is ter _live up ter 'is name_, an' ef my name was _Dolittle_ I sho' would try ter _live up ter dat, ef I didn't pa.s.s beyond it_!"

And as he restored the hat to the table beside him, he added, with a quizzical lift of his brow:

"I does try ter live up ter _my_ name even, an' yer know, my feller-sinners, hit does look like a hard case fur a man o' my color ter live up ter de name o' White."

He waited again for laughter to subside.

"At leas'," he resumed, seriously, "hit did look like a hard case _at fust_, but by de grace o' Gord I done 'skivered de way ter do it!

"Ef we all had ter live up ter our skins, hit'd be purty hard on a heap of us; but, bless de Lord! he don't look at de skins; he looks at de _heart_!

"I tries ter keep my _heart_ white, an' my _soul_ white, an' my _sperit_ white! Dat's how I tries ter live up ter _my_ name wid a _white cornscience, bless de Lord_! An' I looks fur my people ter he'p me all dey kin."

And now, amid a hearty chorus of "Amens!" and "Glorys!" he raised his hands for a benediction, which in its all-embracing scope did not fail to invoke Divine favor upon "our good 'Piscopalpalian brother, Riviren'

Chesterfiel' Jones--Gord bless him."

LADY

A MONOLOGUE OF THE COW-PEN

Umh! Fur Gord sake, des look at dem cows! All squez up together 'g'ins'

dem bars in dat sof' mud--des like I knowed dey gwine be--an' me late at my milkin'! You Lady! Teck yo' proud neck down f'om off dat heifer's head! Back, I tell yer! Don't tell me, Spot! Yas, I know she impose on you--yas she do. Reachin' her monst'ous mouf clair over yo' po' little muley head. Move back, I say, Lady! Ef you so biggoty, why don't you fool wid some o' dem horn cows? You is a lady, eve'y inch of yer! You knows who to fool wid. You is de uppishes' cow I ever see in all my life--puttin' on so much style--an' yo' milk so po' an' blue, I could purty nigh blue my starch clo'es wid it. Look out dar, Peggy, how you squeeze 'g'ins' Lady! She ain' gwine teck none o' yo' foolishness. Peggy ain't got a speck o' manners! Lady b'longs ter de cream o' s'ciety, I have yer know,--an' bless Gord, I b'lieve dat's all de cream dey is about her. Hyah! fur Gord's sake lis'n at me, pa.s.sin' a joke on Lady!

I does love to pleg dem cows--dey teck it so good-natured. Heap o' us 'omans mought teck lessons in Christianity f'om a cow--de way she stan'

so still an' des look mild-eyed an' chaw 'er cud when anybody sa.s.s 'er.

Dey'd be a heap less fam'ly quar'lin on dis plantation ef de 'omans had cuds ter chaw--dat is ef dey'd be satisfied ter chaw dey own. But ef dey was ter have 'em 'twouldn't be no time befo' dey'd be cud fights eve'y day in de week, eve'y one thinkin' de nex' one had a sweeter moufful 'n what she had. Reckon we got 'nough ter go to law 'bout, widout cuds--ain't we Lady? Don't start pawin' de groun' now, des caze yer heah me speculatin' at yo' feed-trough. I kin talk an' work too. I ain't like you--nuver do n'air one.

I ain't gwine pay no 'tention ter none o' y' all no mo' now tell I git yo' supper ready. Po' little Brindle! Stan' so still, an' ain't say a word. I'm a-fixin' yo' feed now, honey--yas, I is! I allus mixes yo's fust, caze I know you nuver gits in till de las' one an' some o' de rest o' de greedies mos' gin'ally eats it up fo' you gits it.

She's a Scriptu'al cow, Brindle is--she so meek.

Yas, I sho' does love Brindle. Any cow dat kin walk in so 'umble, after all de res' git done, an' pick up a little sc.r.a.p o' leavin's out'n de trough de way she do--an' turn it eve'y bit into good yaller b.u.t.ter--_dat what I calls a cow!_ Co'se I know Lady'll git in here ahead o' yer, honey, an' eat all dis mash I'm a-mixin' so good fur you.

It do do me good to see 'er do it, too. I sho' does love Lady--de way 'er manners sets on 'er. She don't count much at de churn--an' she ain't got no conscience--an' no cha'acter--_but she's a lady!_ Dat's huccome I puts up wid 'er. Yas, I'm a-talkin' 'bout you, Lady, an' I'm a-lookin' at yer, too, rahin' yo' head up so circ.u.mstantial. But you meets my eye like a lady! You ain't shame-faced, is yer! You too well riz--you is. _You_ know dat _I_ know dat yo' po' measly sky-colored milk sours up into mighty fine clabber ter feed yo'ng tukkeys wid--you an' me, we knows dat, don't we?

Hyah! Dar, now, we done turned de joke on all you yaller-creamers--ain't we, Lady?

Lordy! I wonder fo' gracious ef Lady nod her head to me accidental!

Is you 'spondin' ter me, Lady? Tell de trufe, I spec's Lady ter twis' up 'er tongue an' talk some day--she work 'er mouf so knowin'!

Dis heah cotton-seed ought ter be tooken out'n her trough, by rights. Ef I could feed her on bran an' good warm slops a while, de churn would purty soon 'spute her rights wid de tukkeys!

A high-toned cow, proud as Lady is, ought ter reach white-folk's table somehow-ma-ruther. But you gits dar all the same, don't yer Lady? You gits dar in tukkey-meat _ef dey don't reco'nize yer_!

Well! I'm done mixin' now an' I turns my back on de trough--an' advance ter de bars. Lordy, how purty dem cows does look--wid dat low sun 'g'ins' dey backs! So patient an' yit so onpatient.

Back, now, till I teck out dese rails!

Soh, now! Easy, Spot! Easy, Lady! I does love ter let down dese bars wid de sun in my eyes. I loves it mos' as good as I loves ter milk.

Down she goes!

Step up quick, now, Brindle, an' git yo' place.

Lord have mussy! Des look how Brindle meck way fur Lady! I know'd Lady'd git dar fust! I know'd it!