All night
long dey racked an' dey galloped, an' w'en dey got tired er
rackin' an' gallopin', dey all close in on de ole toof an'
thumped it an' gouged at it twel it 'peared unto me dat dey had
got de jaw-bone loosened up, an' wuz tryin' fer ter fetch it up
thoo de top er my head an' out at der back er my neck. An' dey
got wuss nex' day. Mars John, he seed I wuz 'stracted, an' he
tole me fer ter go roun' yere an' git sump'n' put on it, an' de
drug man he 'lowed dat I better have 'er draw'd, an' his wuds
wuzzent more'n col' 'fo' wunner deze yer watchyoumaycollums--
wunner deze dentis' mens--had retched fer it wid a pa'r er tongs
w'at don't tu'n loose w'en dey ketches a holt. Leas'ways dey
didn't wid me. You oughter seed dat toof, boss. Hit wuz wunner
deze yer fo'-prong fellers. Ef she'd a grow'd wrong eend out'ard,
I'd a bin a bad nigger long arter I jin'd de chu'ch. You year'd
my ho'n!"
VII. THE PHONOGRAPH
"UNC REMUS," asked a tall, awkward-looking negro, who was one of
a crowd surrounding the old man, "w'at's dish 'ere w'at dey calls
de fonygraf--dish yer inst'ument w'at kin holler 'roun' like
little chillun in de back yard?"
"I ain't seed um," said Uncle Remus, feeling in his pocket for a
fresh chew of tobacco.
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