“No,” went on Morey, “he just went because he had a foolish idea that the impossible things he had read about might come true.”
Amos sighed again.
“Dey comin’ fo’ yo’ in de mawnin’” he interrupted.
“That isn’t all about Don Quixote. He went away and everything turned out wrong. If it hadn’t been for one thing the old man would have starved. He had all kinds of trouble. How do you reckon he got home again, all safe and sound?”
“How dat?” queried the black boy, straining his wits to understand.
“I say, the old Knight of La Mancha, in other words, Don Quixote, filled with the delusion that the world was really a land of chivalry, which in truth had even then passed away, set forth upon his knightly steed to do deeds of valor in honor of fair ladies and to show his courage. Instead he found only derision, cuffs, kicks and a foodless reception. How then, do you imagine he was able to return home again?”
“Mus’ ’a been dat chivaree.”
“Listen, Amos, this crazy old man got back home because the only person in all the world who really cared for him went with him and looked after him.”
“He done have a colored man?”