But dey er yer, dough. De
scads 'll fetch um."
"Him po' country fer true," commented the Savannah negro; "he no
like Sawanny. Down da, we set need de shade an' eaty de rice-bud,
an' de crab, an' de swimp tree time de day; an' de buckra man
drinky him wine, an' smoky him seegyar all troo de night. Plenty
fer eat an' not much fer wuk."
"Hit's mighty nice, I speck," responded Uncle Remus, gravely. "De
nigger dat ain't hope up 'longer high feedin' ain't got no grip.
But up yer whar fokes is gotter scramble 'roun' an' make der own
livin', de vittles w'at's kumerlated widout enny sweatin' mos'
allers gener'ly b'longs ter some yuther man by rights. One hoe-
cake an' a rasher er middlin' meat las's me fum Sunday ter
Sunday, an' I'm in a mighty big streak er luck w'en I gits dat."
The Savannah negro here gave utterance to a loud, contemptuous
laugh, and began to fumble somewhat ostentatiously with a big
brass watch-chain.
"But I speck I struck up wid a payin' job las' Chuseday,"
continued Uncle Remus, in a hopeful tone.
"Wey you gwan do?"
"Oh, I'm a waitin' on a culled gemmun fum Savannah--wunner deze
yer high livers you bin tellin' 'bout."
"How dat?"
"I loant 'im two dollars," responded Uncle Remus, grimly, "an'
I'm a waitin' on 'im fer de money.
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