“Wid all de turmile, an’ trouble, an’ tribulation—an’ all de worry an’ aggervation? Well, Hamp wanted me ter l’arn how ter read, but I thank my stars dat I can’t read no books. Dey’s ’nuff er all dat right whar we live at widout huntin’ it up in books.”
After this just observation, it was time to put out the lights.
III
HOW AUNT MINERVY ANN RAN AWAY AND RAN BACK AGAIN
In the matter of attending the fair at Halcyondale, Aunt Minervy Ann’s hospitable wishes jumped with my own desires, and it was not difficult to give her a hard and fast promise in the matter; nor did it take the edge off my desires to entertain a suspicion, verified long afterward, that Aunt Minervy Ann’s anxiety was based on a hope, expressed by Major Perdue, that the fair would be properly handled in the Atlanta papers.
The directors of the fair were represented at the little railway station, at Halcyondale, by a committee, and into the hands of this committee fell every man, woman, and child that stepped from the passing trains. It mattered little what the business of these incoming travellers was; whether they came to visit the fair or to attend to their own private affairs. They were seized, bag and baggage, by the committee and borne triumphantly to the hotel, or to a boarding-place, or to some private house. The members of the committee had a duty to perform, and they performed it with an energy and a thoroughness that was amazing if not altogether satisfactory. As I remember, this vigorous body was called the Committee on Public Comfort, and most heroically did it live up to its name and its duties.
These things I learned by observation and not by experience, for before the train on which I was a passenger had cleared the suburbs of Atlanta, I caught a glimpse of Major Tumlin Perdue, who had long been a prominent citizen of Halcyondale. He had changed but little during the ten years. His hair was whiter, and he was a trifle thinner, but his complexion was still rosy and his manners as buoyant as ever. I doubted whether he would know me again, though he had been very friendly with me in the old days, seeming to know by instinct just when and how to drop a word of encouragement and appreciation, and so I forbore to renew the acquaintance. The Major could be boisterous enough in those times when in the humor, but when at his best he had more ways like those of a woman (and a noble and tender-hearted woman at that) than any man I had ever known. He had a woman’s tact, intuition, and sympathy; and these qualities were so exquisitely developed in him that they lifted him high in the estimation of a young man who was living away from his mother, and who was somewhat lonely on that account.
Presently, the Major came along the aisle for a drink of water. As he was in the act of drinking, his eyes met mine, and he recognized me instantly. He swallowed the water with a gulp.
“Why, bless my soul!” he exclaimed, greeting me with the simple cordiality that springs from an affectionate nature. “Why, I wouldn’t take ten dollars for this! I was thinking about you this very day. Don’t you remember the night we went out to ku-klux the Ku-klux, and the chap that mighty nigh broke his neck running into a wire clothes-line? I saw him to-day. He would hardly speak to me,” the Major went on, laughing heartily. “He’s never got over that night’s business. I thought about you, and I started to hunt you up; but you know how it is in Atlanta. Folks ain’t got time to eat, much less to tell you where anybody lives. A man that’s too busy is bound to worry, and worry will kill him every bit and grain as quick as John Barleycorn. Business is bound to be the ruin of this country, and if you don’t live to see it, your children will.”