"What's the matter, Zack?" I asked, with some solicitude.
"It's this way, boss; I went up dar to the votin' place, and there wuz the county undertakah, sah, a-sittin' with a big book open 'foah him, and he sez to me right sharp like:
"'What's your name?'
"'Zack Taylor', I sez, humble.
"'Let's see?' says the undertakah, and he turned over the leaves of the book. All of a sudden he stopped turnin' and begin to run his fingers down the page, mutterin' to himself.
"'Taylor, Taylor, Taylor, Taylor—Zack.' And pretty soon he hollered out:
"'Heah it iz. You black scoundrel. I dun buried you ten year ago. What you mean by tryin' to vote?'
"Just then a passel of white men tuk and threw me out, and den I dun come home 'fore they could bury me again."