I done bin an' got my dose.
W'en I goes ter war, I wanter know w'at I'm a doin'. I don't
wanter git hemmed up 'mong no wimmen and preachers. I wants
elbow-room, an I'm bleedzd ter have it. Des gimme elbow-room."
"But, Brer Remus, you ain't--"
"I mout drap in, Brer Rastus, an' den ag'in I moutn't, but w'en
you duz see me santer in de do', wid my specs on, you k'n des say
to de congergashun, sorter familious like, 'Yer come ole man
Remus wid his hoss-pistol, an' ef dar's much uv a skuffle 'roun'
yer dis evenin' you er gwineter year fum 'im.' Dat's me, an'
dat's what you kin tell um. So long! Member me to Sis Abby."
III. UNCLE REMUS AND THE SAVANNAH DARKEY
THE notable difference existing between the negroes in the
interior of the cotton States and those on the seaboard--a
difference that extends to habits and opinions as well as to
dialect--has given rise to certain ineradicable prejudices which
are quick to display themselves whenever an opportunity offers.
These prejudices were forcibly, as well as ludicrously,
illustrated in Atlanta recently. A gentleman from Savannah had
been spending the summer in the mountains of north Georgia, and
found it convenient to take along a body-servant.
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