As for Cousin John Richard, we didn’t expect no outlay of strength from him, feelin’, as he did, in pain all the time.
But Maggie, seein’, I spoze, our efforts wuz futiler than we could hope, tried to make another diversion by orderin’ in a pitcher of drink made from the juice of oranges and pineapples, very sweet and delicious. But he drinked it right off and went on; it seemed to jest refresh him and renew his strength to talk—we see he couldn’t be stopped nohow.
And seein’ he wuz a neighbor, and seein’ that Genieve sot there jest as calm as a mornin’ in June, and didn’t seem to care a mite about his talk, why, we had to let him take his swing and talk his talk out.
But before several minutes had passed I jest found myself a soarin’ up onbeknown to myself, and I felt that I must, if he went on much longer, jest wade in and give him a piece of my mind, and I felt that I shouldn’t scrimp him in the piece nuther.
Why, his talk wuz scandalous.
He talked as if the blacks wuz of no more consequence than so many black ants on a ant-hill, and it seemed as if he would love to jest walk right over ’em and crush ’em all down under his heel.
Why, he showed such a deadly horstility, and contempt, and scorn to ’em and to everything connected with ’em, that at last I had to speak out.
And sez I, “If you feel like that, I shouldn’t think you would oppose ’em in their skeme of colonization.” (I knew jest how bitter he had been about his brother Victor goin’, and the rest of his laborers.)
Sez I, “I should think, if you had such a opinion of ’em, the sooner you could get rid of the hull caboodle of ’em the better you would like it.”
He fairly scowled, he looked so mad.