“I’d be glad to stay with you, Tumlin,” the Colonel declared; “but—well, under the circumstances, I think I’d better fill that engagement. Justice to my family demands it.”
“Well,” responded Major Perdue, “if you are going, I reckon we’d just as well go, too.”
“Huh!” exclaimed Aunt Minervy Ann, “ef gwine’s de word, dey can’t nobody beat me gittin’ way fum here. Dey may beat me comin’ back, I ain’t ’sputin’ dat; but dey can’t beat me gwine ’way. I’m ol’, but I got mighty nigh ez much go in me ez a quarter-hoss.”
Colonel Blasengame leaned back in his chair and studied the ceiling. “It seems to me, Tumlin, we might compromise on this. Suppose we get Hamp to come in here. Minervy Ann can stay out there in the kitchen and throw a rock against the back door when the Ku-Klux come.”
Aunt Minervy Ann fairly gasped. “Who? Me? I’ll die fust. I’ll t’ar dat do’ down; I’ll holler twel ev’ybody in de neighborhood come a-runnin’. Ef you don’t b’lieve me, you des try me. I’ll paw up dat back-yard.”
Major Perdue went to the back door and called Hamp, but there was no answer. He called him a second time, with the same result.
“Well,” said the Major, “they’ve stolen a march on us. They’ve come and carried him off while we were talking.”
“No, suh, dey ain’t, needer. I know right whar he is, an’ I’m gwine atter ’im. He’s right ’cross de street dar, colloguin’ wid dat ol’ Ceely Ensign. Dat’s right whar he is.”
“Old! Why, Celia is young,” remarked the Major. “They say she’s the best cook in town.”
Aunt Minervy Ann whipped out of the room and was gone some little time. When she returned, she had Hamp with her, and I noticed that both were laboring under excitement which they strove in vain to suppress.