Big Sue pondered over this, but presently she grinned and slipped a look at Uncle.
“When Lula died, whyn’t you bought a awtymobile, Uncle? I hear-say you got plenty o’ money buried all round you’ house.”
“Who? Me? Great Gawd! I ain’ got fi’ cents buried! But if I had a t’ousand dollars I wouldn’ buy a awtymobile! Not me!”
“How come so?”
“Lawd, dey smells too bad! An’ I seen how dey treats de buckra. Dey goes sound to sleep on de road any time dey gits ready. Soon’s dey gits in deep sand whe’ de pullin’ is tight, dey squats right down an’ dozes off. You can’ lick ’em wid no stick like I licks Julia to wake ’em up. No, ma’am. You have to set an’ wait on ’em till dey nap is out. Dey kin dead easy too. I wouldn’ trust to buy one. No, Jedus. Dey breath is stink as a pole-cat too.”
“Lawd, Uncle, you is a case in dis world! A heavy case!”
Uncle’s eyes twinkled. “You ax me so much a questions, now le’ me ax you one. How come you’ wind is so short, daughter? You been puffin’ like a steamboat ever since you come up dat li’l’ small hill.”
Big Sue’s hands caught at each other anxiously. “I dunno, Uncle. My wind is short fo’ true. E’s been short since last Sunday was a week. I eat a piece o’ possum what was kinder spoilt fo’ my supper last night, an’ I ain’ been hardly able to travel all day. Spoilt victuals never did set right in my stomach, somehow. I don’ know how come so.”
As Uncle studied, his eyes snapped. “Sp’ilt possum meat wouldn’ hurt nobody. You looks to me like you’s conjured. You’ eyes looks strainin’. You must ’a’ crossed somebody dat Sunday.”
Big Sue’s fat face looked ready to cry. “I ain’ never done nobody a harm t’ing in my life, Uncle. I stays home all de time. I goes to church on Sunday, den I comes straight back home. I don’ hardly go to meetin’ on Wednesday night. I went all de way to Sandy Island to git dis boy, by I was so lonesome yonder home by myself. Who you reckon would conjure me, Uncle?”