"How many slaves do you own?"
"I've got as right smart a little nigger boy as there is anywheres in Tennessee!" said the first, proudly.
"How old is he?"
"He'll be nine year' old next grass, I reckon."
"Well, how many negroes has your friend?"
"I've got one old woman, sir."
"How old is she?"
"Wal, plaguy nigh a hunderd,—old Bess, you know her."
"Yes, I know old Bess; and an excellent creature she is. So it seems that you eleven men own two slaves. And these you wish to take into some of the territories, I suppose."
The men looked foolish, and were obliged to own that they had never dreamed of conveying either the nine-year-old lad or the female centenarian out of the state of Tennessee.