“Yes. I opened it,” he told him. “What about it?”
“So da’s de way you does now,—drinks yo’ licker secut!” Felo accused him playfully. “You sho is a nasty ’ceitful w’ite man,” he went on, resuming something of his natural humor. “Done got you a nice full bottle o’ w’iskey settin’ up in yo’ cubbud, locked up; an’ ain’ say a word to nobody,—an’ me right hyuh in de same house wid you; an’ comes up hyuh to yo’ room on de sly, an’ drinks to yo’ ease; an’ den got de cheek to tell me ’bout bein’ onsociable!... Man, you oughta go ’way from hyuh.”
Mr. Amos put his book aside and laughed with hearty enjoyment at the playful reprimand. He knew by the familiar attitude that Felo was himself again. It was not the familiarity of disrespect or impudence; but a wholesome, child-like familiarity born of simple trust and friendly understanding; a delightful freedom of manner and speech never indulged in before any unsympathetic outsider, but reserved for the exclusive entertainment of his “ole-time buzzum friend,” whom he knew would never misinterpret the intention.
“Then you don’t want a drink, I suppose? Since you feel that you’ve been slighted,” Mr. Amos said to him.
“Who?” Felo answered, reaching for the bottle and taking out the cork with a flourish. “Don’t you know I bin too well-raise to refuse? ’Specially good licker like dis bottle look to be?... An’ I’m goin’ fill up dis glass my own-self, too,” he went on muttering softly. “’Cause you jus’ natchally tetches a bottle too light w’en you eechin’ out licker to people. An’ you know I don’ b’lieve in bein’ skimson ’bout no kind o’ stimalashun.”
Having filled the glasses, he gave one to Mr. Amos, then lifting his own and sniffing with energy, he said:
“Peace an’ happiness to yo’ heart, an’ Gawd keep de castle well-puhvided.”
“That’s a very nice long-sighted wish,” Mr. Amos told him, smiling. “Here’s to your good health, and a whole lot of excitement when you go home Sunday.”
“Look! Leave dat be right whah it is,” Felo answered abruptly. He didn’t want to hear tell nothin’ about any Sunday.... Who wanted to talk about lookin’ for any excitement, when everybody was gone away to the sugar-grindin’, and nobody he cared about was left in Gritny to stir up somh’n anyways interestin’?... He didn’t have nothin’ particular to go home for Sunday. Ma Fanny could get some of Liza’s lazy chillun to worry over totin’ slop for that hog.... And anyway, he was disgusted with totin’ slop like he did every Gawd-blessed Sunday of the world; and ain’t got nothin’ for it except people criticizin’.... They didn’t have nobody he cared to see in Gritny. He was goin’ to stay home and go to church in the evenin’, yonder to Holly Grove, ’cross the New Basin.... Wondering at this sudden disinterest in things at home, Mr. Amos suggested that Lethe might be pleased to see him on Sunday.
Who? Felo answered with a tone of evident disappointment. Lethe wasn’t no diffunt from the rest of them crazy wimmins bin raised on a plantation.... You can take a nigger out the country, but you sho Gawd can’t take the country out a nigger.... He went on with vehemence. Lethe wasn’t satisfied with havin’ a good place to work at Miss Tillie house; comin’ home soon every evenin’, with half a day off on Sunday, when the two of them could be together nice and friendly; there she had to leave ole wild Lizzie Cole put devilment in her head and make her onrestful,—goin’ yonder to the sugar-grindin’ like all them other cheap Gritny niggers what think more about money than they do about manners and behavior....