Roxy laughed a mocking laugh, and said scoffingly, with a toss of her head, and her hands on her hips—
“Yes!—oh, I reckon! Co’se you’d like to know—wid yo’ po’ little ole rag dollah. What you reckon I’s gwine to tell you for?—you ain’t got no money. I’s gwine to tell yo’ uncle—en I’ll do it dis minute, too—he’ll gimme five dollahs for de news, en mighty glad, too.”
She swung herself around disdainfully, and started away. Tom was in a panic. He seized her skirts, and implored her to wait. She turned and said, loftily—
“Look-a-heah, what ’uz it I tole you?”
“You—you—I don’t remember anything. What was it you told me?”
“I tole you dat de next time I give you a chance you’d git down on yo’ knees en beg for it.”
Tom was stupefied for a moment. He was panting with excitement. Then he said:
“Oh, Roxy, you wouldn’t require your young master to do such a horrible thing. You can’t mean it.”
“I’ll let you know mighty quick whether I means it or not! You call me names, en as good as spit on me when I comes here po’ en ornery en ’umble, to praise you for bein’ growed up so fine en handsome, en tell you how I used to nuss you en tend you en watch you when you ’uz sick en hadn’t no mother but me in de whole worl’, en beg you to give de po’ ole nigger a dollah for to git her som’n’ to eat, en you call me names—names, dad blame you! Yassir, I gives you jes one chance mo’, and dat’s now, en it las’ on’y a half a second—you hear?”
Tom slumped to his knees and began to beg, saying—