The way in which the old man had scraped acquaintance with Mammy, caused Mr. Porter considerable amusement. Mammy’s intercourse with the colored people she had met since coming North, had not been calculated to increase her respect for her race. Finding “Uncle Rastus” at the North, she instantly concluded that he had been born and raised there. That, like herself, he might have been transplanted, she did not stop to argue. But one day when Mammy was struggling with an unusually large consignment of candy, Uncle Rastus hurried to offer his services “to one ob de quality colored ladies,” as he gallantly expressed it. This led to a better understanding between the two old people, and when Mammy discovered that Rastus had been born and raised in the county adjoining her own, and that his old master and hers had been warm friends, Rastus’ claim to polite society was indisputable, and from that moment, Mammy and Rastus owned the Arcade, and the courtly old negro, and dignified old negress caused not a little amusement to Constance B.’s customers, and the people who frequented the Arcade. It would be hard to tell which grew to take the greater pride in the venture, for Rastus had all the old antebellum negro’s love and respect for his white folks and Mammy lost no opportunity for singing the praises of hers. And thus another member was added to the firm and Constance’s interests were well guarded.
Not once since launching upon her venture had Constance met with any loss. The little cash box invariably held the correct amount to balance the number of boxes taken from the booth, and the returns surprised Constance more than anyone else.
“I tell you I’m going to be a genuine business woman, see if I’m not,” she cried, after balancing her accounts one Saturday evening. “Why just think of it Mumsey, dear, here are fifteen dollars over and above all expenses for the week. If I continue like this I’ll be a million_nairess_ before I know what has happened. How are you flourishing, Nornie? Are your Pegasus Ponies as profitable?”
“Not quite, but I’m hopeful,” laughed Eleanor. “Some of them are spavined in their minds, I fear. At any rate they don’t ‘arrive’ as quickly as I’d like to have them in spite of all my efforts. However, they are not going backward, and I dare say that ought to gratify me, especially when they are willing to pay me two dollars an hour for helping them to stand still. I can’t make such a showing from driving my coach as you can make from wielding your big spoon, Connie dear, but ten dollars added to your fifteen will keep the wolf from the door, won’t it little mother?” ended Eleanor, laying her hand upon her mother’s shoulder.
Mrs. Carruth rested her cheek upon it as she replied:
“What should I do without my girls? I am so proud of my girls! So proud!—yet I cannot realize it all.”
“You haven’t got to do without us. We’re here to be done with, aren’t we, Nornie?” cried Constance, gayly.
“We certainly are,” was the hearty response.
“Then why don’t you add my part?” demanded Jean, who had faithfully made her journeys to the Irving School each Saturday morning, and upon each occasion returned triumphant with her candy box empty, but her little coin bag well filled with dimes, for her customers were always on the lookout for her.
“I have, Honey. It is all included in the amounts set down here,” answered Constance.