“It wusn’t dat wah, boss; it wus de wah wid Spain.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lemme tell you how it wus. I cuts wood and does odd jobs up to Cunnel Wadkinses. Cunnel Wadkins am de bigges’ fighter in de Souf. W’en dis here wah wid Spain cum up in de papers Cunnel Wadkins ’low he gwine ter pulverize de whole Spanish nation. He set all day in de saloon an’ he talk about it, an’ he cum home at meal time an’ he git out his ole’ s’ord, an’ he don’ talk about nuthin’ else.
“Mis’ Susie, de Cunnel’s wife, she suppote de family, an’ she do de cookin’. Las’ Sadday night de Cunnel cum home, an’ he been drinkin’ plenty. Mis’ Susie she look at him an’ shet her mouf tight, an’ say nothin’.
“De Cunnel git out de s’ord an’ ’low dat de day ob recknin’ am cum wid de cruel an’ bloodthusty Spaniards. Mis’ Susie went on fryin’ batter cakes, but Land! don’t I know dat woman gwine ter bus’ things wide open putty soon!
“I fetch in a turn ob wood; de Cunnel he settin’ by de kitchen stobe, kinder rockin’ roun’ in de chur. Es I cum in de do’ Cunnel say: ‘You is treat me col’, Madam, kase I uphol’ de dignity ob de Wadkins fambly. De Wadkinses nebber wuk; dey am solgers an’ am got ter keep ready fur der country’s call.’
“ ‘Treats you col’, does I?’ says Mis’ Susie. ‘Well, den, lemme treat you warm some,’ says she.
“She po’ out of de bilin’ tea-kittle a big pan full ob hot water an’ she fling it all ober de Cunnel. I gits a big lot ob it on dis arm as I was pilin’ de wood in de box, an’ it tuk de skin off, an’ I dun had it wrapped up fo’ days. De Cunnel am in bed yit, but he sw’ar w’en he git up he gwine ter wuk.
“Dat’s how dis here wah wid Spain done up dis ole niggah. ’Bout w’en, boss, will de fus’ payment ob dat penshun git here, do you recum?”
“The ignorance and stupidity,” said the tourist, as he shut down his window, “of the colored man in the South are appalling.”