Hit don't bodder me. Hit's
done got so now dat w'en I gotter pone er bread, an' a rasher er
bacon, an' nuff grease fer ter make gravy, I ain't keerin' much
w'edder fokes sees ghos'es er no."
XIV. THAT DECEITFUL JUG
UNCLE REMUS was in good humor one evening recently when
he dropped casually into the editorial room of "The
Constitution," as has been his custom for the past year or two.
He had a bag slung across his shoulder, and in the bag was a jug.
The presence of this humble but useful vessel in Uncle Remus's
bag was made the occasion for several suggestive jokes at his
expense by the members of the staff, but the old man's good humor
was proof against all insinuations.
"Dat ar jug's bin ter wah, mon. Hit's wunner deze yer ole timers.
I got dat jug down dar in Putmon County w'en Mars 'Lisha Ferryman
wuz a young man, an' now he's done growed up, an' got ole an'
died, an' his chilluns is growed up an' dey kin count dere
gran'chilluns, an' yit dar's dat jug des ez lively an' ez lierbul
fer ter kick up devilment ez w'at she wuz w'en she come fum de
foundry."
"That's the trouble," said one of the young men. "That's the
reason we'd like to know what's in it now.
"Now you er gittin' on ma'shy groun'," replied Uncle Remus.
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