"I's nev' gwine tell you dat; no, suh. Las' time I seed him, he's des t'arin' off strips up de levee after turrer fellah."
"What other fellow?"
The negro laughed and did a double shuffle at the mere recollection of it.
"Hi-yah! Turrer fellah is de fellah what done tuk my job. Hit was des dis-a-way: when I t'ink dat white man gwine catch me, sholy, I des drap down in de darkes' cawneh I kin fin'; dat's what I done, yas, suh. He des keep on agoin', spat, spat, spat, an' when he come out front de Gineral Jackson over yondeh, one dem boys what's wukkin' on her, he tuk out, an' dat white man des tu'n hisself loose an' mek his laigs go lak he gwine shek 'um plum off; yas, sah!"
Griswold suffered another lapse into the humanities when he saw the list of participants in his act growing steadily with each fresh complication, and he said, "I'm sorry for that, Mose."
"Nev' you min' 'bout dat, Cap'm. Dat boy he been doin' somepin to mek him touchous, 'less'n he nev' tuk out dat-a-way, no, suh!"
"Maybe so. Well, we can't help it now. Here is the other twenty I promised you."
"T'ank you, suh; t'ank you kin'ly Cap'm. You-all's des de whites' white man ev' I knowned. You sholy is."
"What are you going to do with yourself, now?" Griswold inquired.
"Who, me? I's gwine up yondeh to dat resteraw an' git me de bigges' mess o' fried fish I kin hol'—dat's me; yas, suh."