ANDY FIGHTS
When Andy had recovered from his surprise at the violence of Norton's parting advice his eye suddenly rested on the tray of untouched mint juleps.
A broad smile broke over his black countenance:
"Fight it out! Fight it out!" he exclaimed with a quick movement toward the table. "Yassah, I'm gwine do it, too, I is!"
He paused before the array of filled glasses of the iced beverage, saluted silently, and raised one high over his head to all imaginary friends who might be present. His eye rested on the portrait of General Lee. He bowed and saluted again. Further on hung Stonewall Jackson. He lifted his glass to him, and last to Norton's grandfather in his blue and yellow colonial regimentals. He pressed the glass to his thirsty lips and waved the julep a jovial farewell with the palm of his left hand as he poured it gently but firmly down to the last drop.
He smacked his lips, drew a long breath and sighed:
"Put ernuff er dat stuff inside er me, I kin fight er wil'cat! Yassah, an' I gwine do it. I gwine ter be rough wid her, too! Rough wid her, I is!"
He seized another glass and drained half of it, drew himself up with determination, walked to the door leading to the hall toward the kitchen and called:
"Miss Minerva!"
Receiving no answer, he returned quickly to the tray and took another drink:
"Rough wid her—dat's de way—rough wid her!"
He pulled his vest down with a vicious jerk, bravely took one step, paused, reached back, picked up his glass again, drained it, and walked to the door.
"Miss Minerva!" he called loudly and fiercely.
From the kitchen came the answer in tender tones:
"Yas—honey!"
Andy retreated hastily to the table and took another drink before the huge but smiling figure appeared in the doorway.
"Did my true love call?" she asked softly.
Andy groaned, grasped a glass and quickly poured another drink of Dutch courage down. "Yassam, Miss Minerva, I thought I hear yer out dar——"
Minerva giggled as lightly as she could considering her two hundred and fifty pounds:
"Yas, honey, hit's little me!"
Andy had begun to feel the bracing effects of the two full glasses of mint juleps. He put his hands in his pockets, walked with springing strides to the other end of the room, returned and squared himself impressively before Minerva. Before he could speak his courage began to fail and he stuttered:
"M-M-M-Miss Minerva!"
The good-humored, shining black face was raised in sharp surprise:
"What de matter wid you, man, er hoppin' roun' over de flo' lak er flea in er hot skillet?"
Andy saw that the time had come when he must speak unless he meant to again ignominiously surrender. He began boldly:
"Miss Minerva! I got somethin' scandalous ter say ter you!"
She glared at him, the whites of her eyes shining ominously, crossed the room quickly and confronted Andy:
"Don't yer dar' say nuttin' scandalizin' ter me, sah!"
His eyes fell and he moved as if to retreat. She nudged him gently:
"G'long, man, what is it?"
He took courage:
"I got ter 'fess ter you, m'am, dat I'se tangled up wid annuder 'oman!"
The black face suddenly flashed with wrath, and her figure was electric with battle. The very pores of her dusky skin seemed to radiate war.
"Who bin tryin' ter steal you?" she cried. "Des sho' her ter me, an' we see who's who!"
Andy waved his hands in a conciliatory self-accusing gesture:
"Yassam—yassam! But I make er fool outen myse'f about her—hit's Miss Cleo!"
"Cleo!" Minerva gasped, staggering back until her form collided with the table and rattled the glasses on the tray. At the sound of the tinkling glass, she turned, grasped a mint julep, and drank the whole of it at a single effort.
Andy, who had been working on a figure in the rug with the toe of his shoe during his confession, looked up, saw that she had captured his inspiration, and sprang back in alarm.
Minerva paused but a moment for breath and rushed for him:
"Dat yaller Jezebel!—tryin' ter fling er spell over you—but I gwine ter save ye, honey!"
Andy retreated behind the lounge, his ample protector hot on his heels:
"Yassam!" he cried, "but I don't want ter be saved!"
Before he had finished the plea, she had pinned him in a corner and cut off retreat.
"Of course yer don't!" she answered generously. "No po' sinner ever does. But don't yer fret, honey, I'se gwine ter save ye in spite er yosef! Yer needn't ter kick, yer needn't ter scramble, now's de time ye needs me, an I'se gwine ter stan' by ye. Nuttin' kin shake me loose now!"
She took a step toward him and he vainly tried to dodge. It was useless. She hurled her ample form straight on him and lifted her arms for a generous embrace:
"Lordy, man, dat make me lub yer er hundred times mo!"
Andy made up his mind in a sudden burst of courage to fight for his life. If she once got those arms about him he was gone. He grasped them roughly and stayed the onset:
"Yassam!" he answered warningly. "But I got ter 'fess up ter you now de whole truf. I bin er deceivin' you 'bout myself. I'se er bad nigger, Miss Minerva, an' I hain't worthy ter be you' husban'!"
"G'long, chile, I done know dat all de time!" she laughed.
Andy walled his eyes at her uneasily, and she continued:
"But I likes ter hear ye talk humble dat a way—hit's a good sign."
He shook his head impatiently:
"But ye don't know what I means!"
"Why, of cose, I does!" she replied genially. "I always knowed dat I wuz high above ye. I'se black, but I'se pure ez de drivellin' snow. I always knowed, honey, dat ye wern't my equal. But ye can't help dat. I'se er born 'ristocrat. My mudder was er African princess. My grandmudder wuz er queen—an' I'se er cook!"
Andy stamped his foot with angry impatience;
"Yassam—but ye git dat all wrong!"
"Cose, you' Minerva understan's when ye comes along side er yo' true love dat ye feels humble——"
"Nobum! Nobum!" he broke in emphatically—"ye got dat all wrong—all wrong!" He paused, drew a chair to the table and motioned her to a seat opposite.
"Des lemme tell ye now," he continued with determined kindness. "Ye see I got ter 'fess de whole truf ter you. Tain't right ter fool ye."
Minerva seated herself, complacently murmuring:
"Yassah, dat's so, Brer Andy."
He leaned over the table and looked at her a moment solemnly:
"I gotter 'fess ter you now, Miss Minerva, dat I'se always bin a bad nigger—what dey calls er pizen bad nigger—I'se er wife beater!"
Minerva's eyes walled in amazement:
"No?"
"Yassam," he went on seriously. "When I wuz married afore I got de habit er beatin' my wife!"
"Beat her?"
Andy shook his head dolefully:
"Yassam. Hit's des lak I tell ye. I hates ter 'fess hit ter you, m'am, but I formed de habit, same ez drinkin' licker—I beat her! I des couldn't keep my hands offen her. I beat her scandalous! I pay no tenshun to her hollerin!—huh!—de louder she holler, 'pears lak de harder I beat her!"
"My, my, ain't dat terrible!" she gasped.
"Yassam——"
"Scandalous!"
"Dat it is——"
"Sinful!"
"Jes so!" he agreed sorrowfully.
"But man!" she cried ecstatically, "dat's what I calls er husband!"
"Hey?"
"Dat's de man fer me!"
He looked at her in dismay, snatched the decanter, poured himself a straight drink of whiskey, gulped it down, leaned over the table and returned to his task with renewed vigor:
"But I kin see, m'am, dat yer don't know what I means! I didn't des switch 'er wid er cowhide er de buggy whip! I got in er regular habit er lammin' her wid anything I git hold of—wid er axe handle or wid er fire shovel——"
"Well, dat's all right," Minerva interrupted admiringly. "She had de same chance ez you! I takes my chances. What I wants is er husban'—a husban' dat's got de sand in his gizzard! Dat fust husban' er mine weren't no good 'tall—nebber hit me in his life but once—slap me in de face one day, lak dat!"
She gave a contemptuous imitation of the trivial blow with the palms of her hands.
"An' what'd you do, m'am?" Andy asked with sudden suspicion.
"Nuttin' 'tall!" she said with a smile. "I des laf, haul off, kinder playful lak, an' knock 'im down wid de flatiron——"
Andy leaped to his feet and walked around the table toward the door:
"Wid de flatiron!" he repeated incredulously.
"Didn't hit 'im hard!" Minerva laughed. "But he tumble on de flo' lak er ten-pin in er bowlin' alley. I stan' dar waitin' fer 'im ter git up an' come ergin, an' what ye reckon he done?"
"I dunno, m'am," Andy sighed, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.
Minerva laughed joyously at the memory of the scene:
"He jump up an' run des lak er turkey! He run all de way down town, an' bless God ef he didn't buy me a new calico dress an' fotch hit home ter me. He warn't no man at all! I wuz dat sorry fer 'im an' dat ershamed er him I couldn't look 'im in de face ergin. I gits er divorce frum him——"
She paused, rose, and looked at Andy with tender admiration:
"But, Lordy, honey, you an' me's gwine ter have joyful times!"
Andy made a break for the door but she was too quick for him. With a swift swinging movement, astonishing in its rapidity for her size, she threw herself on him and her arms encircled his neck:
"I'se yo' woman an' you'se my man!" she cried with a finality that left her victim without a ray of hope. He was muttering incoherent protests when Helen's laughing voice came to his rescue:
"Oho!" she cried, with finger uplifted in a teasing gesture.
Minerva loosed her grip on Andy overwhelmed with embarrassment, while he crouched behind her figure crying:
"'Twa'n't me, Miss Helen—'twa'n't me!"
Helen continued to laugh while Andy grasped the tray and beat a hasty retreat.
Helen approached Minerva teasingly:
"Why, Aunt Minerva!"
The big, jovial black woman glanced at her:
"G'way, chile—g'way frum here!"
"Aunt Minerva, I wouldn't have thought such a thing of you!" Helen said demurely.
Minerva broke into a jolly laugh and faced her tormentor:
"Yassum, honey, I spec hit wuz all my fault. Love's such foolishness—yer knows how dat is yosef!"
A look of rapture overspread Helen's face:
"Such a sweet, wonderful foolishness, Aunt Minerva!"—she paused and her voice was trembling when she added—"It makes us all akin, doesn't it?"
"Yassam, an' I sho' is glad ter see you so happy!"
"Oh, I'm too happy, Aunt Minerva, it frightens me"—she stopped, glanced at the door, drew nearer and continued in low tones: "I've just left Tom out there on the lawn, to ask you to do something for me."
"Yassam."
"I want you to tell the major our secret to-night. He'll be proud and happy in his victory and I want him to know at once."
The black woman shook her head dubiously:
"Tell him yosef, honey!"
"But I'm afraid. The major frightens me. When I look into his deep eyes I feel that he has the power to crush the soul out of my body and that he will do it if I make him very angry."
"Dat's 'cause yer deceives him, child."
"Please tell him for us, Aunt Minerva! Oh, you've been so good to me! For the past weeks I've been in heaven. It seems only a day instead of a month since he told me his love and then it seems I've lived through all eternity since I first felt his arms about me. Sitting out there in the moonlight by his side I forget that I'm on earth, forget that there's a pain or a secret in it. I'm just in heaven. I have to pinch myself to see if it's real"—she smiled and pinched her arm—"I'm afraid I'll wake up and find it only a dream!"
"Well, yer better wake up just er minute an' tell de major—Mister Tom got ter have it out wid him."
"Yes, I know, and that's what scares me. Won't you tell him for us right away? Get him in a good humor, make him laugh, say a good word for us and then tell him. Tell him how useless it will be to oppose us. He can't hold out long against Tom, he loves him so."
"Mr. Tom want me ter tell de major ter-night? He ax yer ter see me?"
"No. He doesn't know what I came for. I just decided all of a sudden to come. I want to surprise him. He is going to tell his father himself to-night. But somehow I'm afraid, Aunt Minerva. I want you to help us. You will, won't you?"
The black woman shook her head emphatically:
"Nasah, I ain't gwine ter git mixed up in dis thing!"
"Aunt Minerva!"
"Nasah—I'se skeered!"
"Ah, please?"
"Nasah!"
"Please——"
"Na, na, na!"
"Aunt Minerva——"
"Na———"
The girl's pleading eyes were resistless and the black lips smiled:
"Cose I will, chile! Cose I will—I'll see 'im right away. I'll tell him de minute I lays my eyes on 'im."
She turned to go and ran squarely into Norton as he strode into the room. She stopped and stammered:
"Why—why—wuz yer lookin' fer me, major?"
Norton gazed at her a moment and couldn't call his mind from its painful train of thought. He spoke finally with sharp accent:
"No. I want to see Cleo."
Helen slipped behind Minerva:
"Stay and tell him now. I'll go."
"No, better wait," was her low reply, as she watched Norton furtively. "I don't like de way his eyes er spittin' fire."
Norton turned to Minerva sharply:
"Find Cleo and tell her I wish to see her immediately!"
"Yassah—yassah!" Minerva answered, nervously, whispering to Helen: "Come on, honey—git outen here—come on!"
Helen followed mechanically, glancing timidly back over her shoulder at Norton's drawn face.