“Well, suh, ’tain’t no use fer ter tell yer de rest. Dar’s dat ar baby in dar, an’ what mo’ sign does you want ter show you dat it all turned out des like one er dem ol’-time tales?”
VIII
THE CASE OF MARY ELLEN
It came to pass in due time that Atlanta, following the example of Halcyondale, organized a fair. It was called the Piedmont Exposition, and, as might be supposed, Aunt Minervy Ann was among those attracted to the city by the event. She came to see whether the fair was a bigger one than that held at Halcyondale. Naturally enough she made my house her headquarters, and her coming was fortunately timed, for the cook, taking advantage of the heavily increased demand for kitchen servants, caused by the pressure of strangers in the city, had informed us that if we wanted her services we could either double her wages or dispense with her entirely. It was a very cunningly prepared plan, for there was company in the house, friends from middle Georgia, who had come to spend a week while the exposition was going on, and there would have been no alternative if Aunt Minervy Ann, her Sunday hat sitting high on her head, had not walked in the door.
“I hope all er you-all is well,” she remarked. “Ef you ain’t been frettin’ an’ naggin’ one an’er den my nose done been knocked out er j’int, kaze I know sump’n ’bleeze ter be de matter.”
The truth is, the lady of the house was blazing mad with the cook, and I was somewhat put out myself, for the ultimatum of the servant meant robbery. Aunt Minervy Ann was soon in possession of the facts. At first she was properly indignant, but in a moment she began to laugh.
“Des come out on de back porch wid me, please’m. All I ax you is ter keep yo’ face straight, and don’t say a word less’n I ax you sump’n’.” She flung her hat and satchel in a corner and sallied out. “I don’t blame cooks fer wantin’ ter quit when dey’s so much gwine on up town,” she remarked, in a loud voice, as she went out at the back door. “Dey stan’ by a stove hot wedder er col’, an’ dey ain’t got time ter go ter buryin’s. But me! I don’t min’ de work; I’m ol’ an’ tough. Why, de well ain’t so mighty fur fum de steps, an’ dar’s de wood-cellar right dar. How much you pay yo’ cooks, ma’am?”
“What wages have you been getting?” asked the lady of the house.
“Wellum, down dar whar I come fum dey been payin’ me four dollars a mont’—dat de reason I come up here. Ef you gi’ me six I’ll stay an’ you won’t begrudge me de money. Tu’n me loose in de kitchen an’ I’m at home, ma’am—plum’ at home.”