All you
gotter do is ter holler at de box, an' dar's yo' remarks. Dey
goes in, an' dar dey er tooken and dar dey hangs on twel you
shakes de box, an' den dey draps out des ez fresh ez deze yer
fishes w'at you git fum Savannah, an' you ain't got time fer ter
look at dere gills, nudder."
VIII. RACE IMPROVEMENT
"Dere's a kind er limberness 'bout niggers dese days dat's mighty
cu'us," remarked Uncle Remus yesterday, as he deposited a pitcher
of fresh water upon the exchange table. "I notisses it in de
alley-ways an on de street-cornders. Dey er rackin' up, mon, deze
yer cullud fokes is."
"What are you trying to give us now?" inquired one of the young
men, in a bilious tone.
"The old man's mind is wandering," said the society editor,
smoothing the wrinkles out of his lavender kids.
Uncle Remus laughed. I speck I is a gittin' mo frailer dan I wuz
'fo' de fahmin days wuz over, but I sees wid my eyes an' I years
wid my year, same ez enny er dese yer young bucks w'at goes a
gallopin' roun' huntin' up devilment, an' w'en I sees de
limberness er dese yer cullud people, an' w'en I sees how dey er
dancin' up, den I gits sorter hopeful. Dey er kinder ketchin' up
wid me."
"How is that?"
"Oh, dey er movin'," responded Uncle Remus.
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