"Had a few mint juleps with a friend, no doubt."
"Mint juleps! Huh! He kin swim in 'em—dive in 'em an' stay down er whole day an' never come up ter blow his bref—licker don't faze him!"
"It's politics. He's leading this devilish campaign and he's worried over politics."
"Nasah!" Andy protested with a laugh. "Dem fool niggers des well give up—dey ain't gwine ter vote no mo'. De odder feller's doin' all de worryin'. He ain't worrin'——"
"Yes, he is, too," the boy replied. "He put a revolver in his pocket when he started on that trip."
"Yassah!" Andy laughed. "I know, but yer don't understan'. Dat pistol's his flatform!"
"His platform?"
"You ain' hear what he bin er doin' wid dat pistol?"
"No—what?"
"Man erlive, yer des oughter see 'im yistiddy when I take 'im dem papers ter dat speakin', down in one er dem po' white counties full er Radicals dat vote wid niggers. Er Kermittee comes up an' say dat de Internal Constertooshion er de Nunited States give 'em free speech an' he gwine ter hear from 'em. De Lordy, man, but his bristles riz! I 'lows ter myself, folks yer sho is thumpin' de wrong watermillion dis time!"