The young men about the office
were inclined to chaff him, but his look of sullen resignation
remained unchanged.
"What revival did you attend last night?" inquired one.
"What was the color of the mule that did the hammering?" asked
another.
"I always told the old man that a suburban chicken coop would
fall on him," remarked some one.
"A strange pig has been squealing in his ear," suggested some one
else.
But Uncle Remus remained impassive. He seemed to have lost all
interest in what was going on around him, and he sighed heavily
as he seated himself on the edge of the trash-box in front of the
office. Finally some one asked, in a sympathetic tone:
"What is the matter, old man? You look like you'd been through
the mill."
"Now you 'er knockin'. I ain't bin thoo de mill sence day 'fo'
yistiddy, den dey ain't no mills in de lan'. Ef wunner deze yer
scurshun trains had runned over me I couldn't er bin wuss off. I
bin trompin' 'roun' in de lowgroun's now gwine on seventy-fi'
year, but I ain't see no sich times ez dat w'at I done spe'unst
now. Boss, is enny er you all ever rastled wid de toofache?"
"Oh, hundreds of times! The toothache isn't anything."
"Den you des played 'roun' de aidges.
Pages:
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196