“At all the frolicks round the country, down in the Missouri bottom, or up the Osage, Jess was hangin' arter that gal, lookin' honey at her, and pizin at the fellars who spoke pleasin' to her. I thort I'd try my hand at makin' him oneasy, so one night, at a frolick, I sidled up to her and axed how she wur, and ef that ailin' nigger of her daddy's wur improvin', what 'ud be the probable amount of the old man's tobaccer crop this season, and some other interestin' matters of talk. She said that she was thrivin', as usual, the nigger wur comin' on as well as could be expected, and the old man's crop promised to be purty considerable. Nothin' could be more satisfying so I kept on a talkin', and she got a laffin', and Jess begun a scowlin'. I seed he warn't pleased, but I didn't estimate him very tall, so I kept on, got a dancin' with Sally, and ended by kissin' her good by, that night, and makin' Jess jealous as a pet pinter!
“I wur agoin to start to Lusiane next day, with a flat load of tobaccer and other groceries, and afore I went, I thort I'd send a present of my pet 'bar cub' over to Sally, jest to have a sorter hitch on her till I'd git back; so I gits my nigger Jim and gins him the followin' note, with the bar cub, and special directions that he wur to give 'em both to Sally, herself:
“'Panter Crik, near Bar Diggins,
Juin twenty 4.
“'To the captivatin' Miss Sally Spillman:
“'Your tender adorer, Sam Crowder, sends you the followin'
fust trofy of a hunt on the Osage; the condition of this bar
are somethin' like him, the bar are all fat, he are all
tenderness! Hopin' that you will gin up a small corner of
your heart to the writer, while he is among the furriners of
Lusiane, he will ever remember you, and be sure not to
furgit to bring a pledge of affection from the sunny south,
to bind our openin' loves.
“'Yours, with stream, or agin it.
“'Sam Crowder.
“I studdyed that out with considerable difficulty, and writ it with more, and 'stick me on a sand-bar' ef that Jess didn't way-lay Jim and read the note! Maybe it didn't stir up the alluvial bottom of his love fur Sally—the varmint's countenance looked as riled as the old Missouri in a June rise.
“Off I started next day, with my flat, for the imporium of the south, and as I war floating along, I couldn't help turnin' over in my mind what a scrougin smart family the Crowders would be, when Sally and I agreed upon annexation. I jest thort I could see 'young Sam,' the fust boy, standin' on the other eend of the flat, strong as a bar—eye like an Ingin—spry as a catamount—fair as Sally and keen as his daddy—I swar, I yelled rite out, thinkin' on it.
“While I was in this way rollin' in clover, by pic-turin' what was to be, they wur tarin' my character all to chitlins up at home. My perlite note was raisin' a parfect freshet of wrath agin me. That display of larnin', about bringin' home a pledge of affection, from the sunny south, most onaccountably oversot my whole family prospects. It wur a stumper to Sally, so she got Jess to explain it, and the way he did it was enormous.
“'Why, don't you see,' ses Jess, 'he means to bring you up one of his nigger children, from the south, to nuss! Nothing can be plainer—thar aint no other 'pledges of affection' than children, that I know on.'
“Well, I swar ef she didn't believe him.
“'The nasty dog,' ses Sally, 'does he think I'm agoin to nuss any of his yaller pledges—ef them thar is all he's got to offer, he aint wuth shucks, and ef you don't lick him fur his onmannerly note, you aint wuth shucks, nuther.'
“Not dreamin' of the row at home, I was a huntin' through Noo Orlins fur presents fur Sally. I bought a roll of ribbon, a pocket full of lace, and a bran new, shinin' silk parasol, and was comin' along, slow and easy, by the St. Louis Exchange, when I heerd Major Beard cryin' off a lot of field hands. I jest sauntered in as he was puttin' up a picanninny 'yaller gal,' about five years old. The little gal had no mammy livin', and looked sorter sickly, so nobody seemed anxious to git her. I hollered fifty dollars, and the little creatur' brightened up when she seed who was a biddin'; I didn't look like a sugar or cotton planter, and the creatur' seemed glad that I warn't. Some cotton fellar here bid sixty dollars, and she wilted rite down—I thort what a slick present she'd be fur Sally, and how well she'd do to tend the children, so I sung out seventy dollars; she knew my voice, and I could see her eyelids trimble. No sooner did the Major drop the hammer on seventy dollars, than she looked wuth a hundred, she was so pleased at my buyin' her. She was a nice little creatur', but her har was oncommon straight.