CHAPTER VIII
DE PRODEGALE SON
Shawn found a seat on one of the benches reserved for the white people. Uncle Brad was in the pulpit. He arose, in all of the dignity of the occasion. The little church was well filled with colored people. After a song and prayer, uncle Brad came forward and began reading, to all appearances, from the last half of the fifteenth chapter of Luke. Closing the Bible, he began, "I have read fo' yo' heahin' de story uv de Prodegale Son. Dis hyar boy, han'sum an' smart, bergin to git tired uv de fawm—he heer'd de boys frum de city tellin' erbout de great doin's down dar, en de mo' he look eroun' de mo' de ole place los' hit's chawm, en fine'ly he goes to hi' daddy en says, says he, 'Pap, I dun git to de age when I waun' see sum uv de wurl, en' ef yo' gwine do ennything fo' me, do hit now.' Yessir, he lit a seegar en blow de smoke thru hi' nose en say, 'Do hit now!'
"De boy dun fergit how his daddy fotch him up an' feed him an' clothe him, but dat doan' count wid chillun. Dey kine er reason hit dis way: 'Yo' 'sponsibul fo' my bein' heah, en yo' bleeged to teck keer uv me'. De ole man kiner swole up, but he drawed his check on de bank—de Bible doan' say how much, but hit mus' ter been a pile, fer de Bible doan' fool wid little things. De boy wen' 'roun' to tell 'em all good-bye, an' his mammy jes' fell on his neck an' wep'. He wuz de black sheep, an' hit seem dat de mammies allus love dese black sheep de best. When he cum to tell his brother good-bye, de brother kiner put hi' han' to hi' mouf en say, 'Doan' yo' write back to me when yo' git busted,' en de Prodegale Son he say, 'Pooh, pooh, yo' clod-hopper.'
"De Prodegale Son."
"Dar wuz de ole folks sottin' on de poach as he wen' down de road. Dey could see him ergin crowin' in de craddle; dey could see him larnin' how to teck his fust step, en back in de years, dey could heah de fust word he ever said—de fust one mos' uv us says, mammy.
"He rech de city, en dere wuz frens waitin' him by de score, en dey say, 'Whut a fine genermun! Whut a spote! All wool en a yahd wide!' Yassir! An he smile an' swole up an' say, 'Le's have sunthin!' Dey go inter de bar, en de barkeeper smile en say, 'Whut's yourn, gents?' Some say ole fashun toddy, some say gin, en' so on. De young man res' hi' foot on de railin' uv de bar, en look at hi'sel' in de glass, en he see de dimun rings on his fingers jes' glis'nin', an' when de licker gits to workin' inside him, he look in de glass ergin, en 'lows to hi'sel', 'I reckon I'se jes' about de wahmest thing in dis hyar town,'—an' he wuz! He foots all de bills. Lawse! how he meck frens. He tell er story, en dey all jes' laff fit ter bust, an' say, 'Hain' he great!' De ladies uv de town, some uv 'em, dey roll dey black eyes at him an' say, 'Hain' he sweet!' He done fergot de little girl wid de blue eyes an' de gold ha'r blowin' in de win'. De gamblers tuck a crack at him, too—dey kin tell a sucker three miles off. Dey showed him how to handle de kyards an' roll de bones, en he rar'd back in a sof' cheer wid a black seegar in hi' mouf an' see his money slip erway. Lawse! yo' oreter see his room whar he stay. He slep' in a feather-tick nine foot deep, an' show-nuff goose feathers, mine yo'; a red lam' wool blanket, en lookin'-glasses all over de wall, so ez he could see hi'sel' whichever way he tu'n. Nobody to scole him erbout gittin' up in de mawnin' en he had his breakfas' fotch up on a silver waiter by a shiny nigger, but somehow, de vittels got so dey didn't tase ez good ez dey did down on de ole fawm. City grub looks mi'ty temp'in at fust, but after while when yo' git down ter kinder pickin' ovah hit, yo'll find dat hit's lackin' in de juice er sunthin', en yo' long to lay yo' gums on de things jes' whar dey grow.