You er mighty fur ways fum
home, an' you wanter be a lookin' out fer yo'se'f. Fus and
fo'mus, you er thumpin' de wrong watermillion. You er w'isslin'
up de wrong chube. I ain't tromped roun' de country much. I ain't
bin to Charlstun an' needer is I tuck in Savanny; but you
couldn't rig up no game on me dat I wouldn't tumble on to it de
minit I laid my eyeballs on you. W'en hit come to dat I'm ole man
Tumbler, fum Tumblersville--I is dat. Hit takes one er deze yer
full-blooded w'ite men fur ter trap my jedgment. But w'en a
nigger comes a jabberin' 'roun' like he got a mouf full er rice
straw, he ain't got no mo' chance long side er me dan a sick
sparrer wid a squinch-owl. You gutter travel wid a circus 'fo'
you gits away wid me. You better go long an' git yo' kyarpet-sack
and skip de town. You er de freshest nigger w'at I seen yit."
The Charleston negro passed on just as a police-man' came up.
"Boss, you see dat smart Ellick?"
"Yes, what's the matter with him?"
"He's one er deze yer scurshun niggers from Charlstun. I seed you
a-stannin' over agin de cornder yander, an' ef dat nigger'd a
draw'd his monty kyards on me, I wuz a gwineter holler fer you.
Would you er come, boss?"
"Why, certainly, Uncle Remus.
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