XIV
BROTHER RABBIT AND THE GIZZARD-EATER
“It seem like ter me dat I hear somebody say, not longer dan day ’fo’ yistiddy, dat dey’d be mighty glad ef dey could fin’ some un fer ter bet wid um,” said Uncle Remus, staring hard at the little boy, and then suddenly shutting his eyes tight, so that he might keep from laughing at the expression he saw on the child’s face. Receiving no immediate response to his remark, the old man opened his eyes again, and found the little boy regarding him with a puzzled air.
“My mother says it is wrong to bet,” said the child after awhile. He was quite serious, and it was just this aspect of seriousness that made him a little different from another little boy that had been raised at Uncle Remus’s knee. “Mother says that no Christian would want to bet.”
The old man closed his eyes again, as though trying to remember something. He frowned and smacked his mouth before he spoke, “It look like dat I never is ter git de tas’e er dat chicken-pie what yo’ gran’ma sont me out’n my mouf. I dunner when I been had any chicken-pie what stayed wid me like dat chicken-pie. But ’bout dat bettin’,” he remarked, straightening himself in his chair, “I speck I mus’ ’a’ been a-dreamin’. I know mighty well it couldn’t ’a’ been you; so we’ll des up an’ say it wuz little Dreamus, an’ let it go at dat. All I know is dat dey wuz a little chap loungin’ roun’ here tryin’ fer ter l’arn how ter play mumbly-peg wid one er de case-knives what he tuck fum de white folks’ dinner-table, an’ whiles he wuz in de middle er his l’arnin’, de ol’ speckled hen run fum under de house here, an’ sot up a mighty cacklin’, kaze she fear’d some un wuz gwineter interrupt de eggs what she been nussin’ an’ warmin’ up. She cackle, an’ she cackle, an’ den she cackle some mo’ fer ter keep fum fergittin’ how; an’ ’long ’bout dat time, dish yer little boy what I been tellin’ you ’bout—I speck we’ll be bleeze ter call him Dreamus—he up wid a rock an’ flung it right at ’er, an’ ef she’d ’a’ been in de way er de rock, he’d ’a’ come mighty nigh hittin’ her. Dis make de ol’ hen bofe skeer’d an’ fear’d an’ likewise mad, an’ she hitched a squall on ter her cackle, an’ flop her wings. Seein’ dat de hen wuz mad, dis little chap, which he name Dreamus, he got mad, too, an’ he ’lowed, ‘I bet you I make you hush!’ an’ dar dey had it, de ol’ hen runnin’ an’ squallin’, an’ de little chap zoonin’ rocks at her. I speck de hen would ’a’ bet ef she’d ’a’ know’d how—an’ she sho’ would ’a’ won de bet, kaze de las’ news I hear fum ’er she wuz runnin’ an’ squallin’.”
The little boy squirmed uneasily in his chair. He remembered the incident very well, so well that he hardly knew what to say. But after a while, thinking that it was both necessary and polite to say something, he declared that when he made that remark to the hen he knew she wouldn’t understand him, and that what he said about betting was just a saying.
“Dat mought be, honey,” said Uncle Remus, “but don’t you fool yo’se’f ’bout dat hen not knowin’ how ter talk, kaze dey has been times an’ places when de creeturs kin do lots mo’ talkin’ dan folks. When you git ter be ol’ ez what I is, you’ll know dat talkin’ ain’t got nothin’ in de roun’ worl’ ter do wid fedders, an’ needer wid fur. I hear you say you want ter bet wid de ol’ hen, an’ ef you still wantin’ you got a mighty good chance dis day ef de sun is mighty nigh down. I’ll bet you a thrip ag’in a ginger-cake dat when you had yo’ dinner you ain’t fin’ no chicken gizzard in yo’ part er de pie.”
“No,” replied the child, “I didn’t, and when I asked grandmother about it, she said she was going to raise some chickens next year with double gizzards.”
“Did she say dat? Did Miss Sally say dat?” inquired Uncle Remus, laughing delightedly. “Well, suh, dat sho’ do bang my time! How come she ter know dat some er de creeturs got double gizzards? She sho’ is de outdoin’est white ’oman what’s yever been bornded inter de worl’. She done sont me de chicken gizzard des so I kin tell you ’bout de double gizzards an’ de what-nots. Double gizzards! De ve’y name flings me ’way back yander ter ol’ folks an’ ol’ times. Laws-a-massy! I wonder what Miss Sally gwine do nex’; anybody what guess it oughter be president by good rights.” Uncle Remus paused, and lowered his voice to a confidential tone—“She ain’t tell you ’bout de time when de Yallergater wuz honin’ fer ol’ Brer Rabbit’s double gizzards, is she, honey?”
“No, she didn’t tell me that, but she laughed, and when I asked her what she was laughing at, she said I’d find out by the time I was seven feet tall.”