“Ah, Lord!” exclaimed Aunt Minervy Ann, raising her right hand on high, “dey better ax ’bout dat shoulder. Yesser! ev’y day an’ ev’y night, an’ in betwixt times.”
“Is Mr. Conant troubled with rheumatism?” I inquired.
“Rheumatiz! bless yo’ soul, honey! Ef ’twuz rheumatiz dey wouldn’t be no Paul Conant ’round dis house, ner no Conant baby.”
Here is something decidedly interesting, I thought, but held my peace, knowing that whatever it was would be more quickly disclosed if there were any disclosure to make.
“Ain’t you never hear ’bout it, suh? Well dat bangs me! An’ you right up dar in Atlanty, too! No, suh; you must er been in Savanny, bekaze ’twuz de town talk in Atlanty. Anyhow, wharsomever you wuz er might er been, dey ain’t no rheumatiz de matter wid Marse Paul Conant’s shoulder-blade. I know dat much, an’ I know it mighty well, bekaze I wuz right here in dis house, an’ nowhars else ’cep’n ’roun’ de lot an’ up town an’ back.
“Well, den, suh, ef you ain’t never hear ’bout dat, I most know you ain’t never hear tell er how I run’d off, and how I run’d back, bekaze nobody ain’t never talk ’bout dat—leas’ways, not as I knows un.”
I declared to Aunt Minervy Ann that I never heard a whisper of it. She leaned back against the railing of the steps and drew a long whiff from her pipe.
“’Tain’t no use ter tell you, suh, how times wuz right atter de war. You wuz right in um, an’ ef you don’t know, it’s bekaze you didn’t look ’roun’ an’ see um. I hear um say, suh, dat niggers wuz po’ when dey come free. Dey wuz, suh; dey wuz rank pizen po’; but dey never wuz in dis worl’ a nigger ez po’ ez some er our white folks wuz. You may shake yo’ haid, suh, but I’m givin’ you de straight gov’nment trufe. Niggers is use ter bein’ po’, an’ dey never wuz dat po’ dat dey can’t scuffle ’roun’ an’ make out somehow. Dey er been po’ so long dey er usen ter it. But white folks what been rich! I hope de Lord’ll call me home ’fo’ I see again what I done saw in dem days. I know in reason, suh, dat I seed mo’ er de trouble dan what you did, kaze you couldn’t go in at de back gates like me; an’ what trouble folks does have dey allers keep it somers betwix’ de bedroom an’ de back gate.
“De Perdues wa’n’t no wuss off dan nobody else. Marse Tumlin had dish yer house an’ lot, an’ de plantation, an’ some lan’ way off yander. But all de hosses an’ mules an’ cattle been tuck off, an’ de niggers all gone. Ef he’d er stayed on de plantation, de niggers would ’a’ been dar yit, but stay he wouldn’t, an’ stay he didn’t, an’ so dar he wuz.