No longer'n yistiddy I
seed one er de head men er one er dese Tempeler's s'cieties
totin' water fer a bar-room. He had de water in a bucket, but dey
ain't no tellin' how much red licker he wuz a totin'. G'long,
chile--jine yo' s'ciety an' be good ter yo'se'f. I'm a gittin'
too ole. Gimme th'ee er fo' drams endurin' er de day, an' I'm
mighty nigh ez good a tempunce man ez de next un. I got ter
scuffle fer sump'n t'eat."
XIX. AS A WEATHER PROPHET
UNCLE REMUS was enlightening a crowd of negroes at the car-shed
yesterday.
"Dar ain't nuthin'," said the old man, shaking his head
pensively, "dat ain't got no change wrote on it. Dar ain't nothin
dat ain't spotted befo' hit begins fer ter commence. We all
speunces dat p'overdence w'at lifts us up fum one place an' sets
us down in de udder. Hit's continerly a movin' an a movin'."
"Dat's so!" "You er talkin' now!" came from several of his
hearers.
"I year Miss Sally readin' dis mawnin," continued the old man,
"dat a man wuz comin' down yer fer ter take keer er de wedder--
wunner deze yer Buro mens w'at goes 'roun' a puttin' up an'
pullin' down."
"W'at he gwine do 'roun' yer?" asked one.
"He's a gwineter regelate de wedder," replied Uncle Remus,
sententiously.
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