“Des like Gawd make de young man lif’ up ’is tenshun w’en he hyeah de soun’ o’ de young gal voice, comin’ up de lane, singin’ bol’ so she kin ’tract ’im?—Dat ain’ natchal?... Shucks! Ole crazy nigger. You gotta study yo’ lesson a heap mo’, befo’ you go ’roun’ hyuh preachin’ to people so biggidy.”
Appearing fully satisfied with the delivery of his colorful remonstrance, Nat turned to Dink and said quietly:
“Boy, go yonder an’ play on yo’ comb till you make dese squinched-up niggers ’maginashun change, an’ dey finds out dat de sperret got yuther ways o’ movin’ ’um ’sides preachin’ on Bible texes an’ things.”
“Dah, bless Gawd!” Nookie exclaimed. “Unc’ Nat done win. Done put Mr. Felo out on a home run.”
“Felo ain’ gone, is he?” Tom inquired.
“No. Felo hyuh,” Susan told him.
“Mr. Felo, you ain’ goin’, is you?” Scilla asked solicitously.
“Who?” Felo replied, with calm amazement. “Felo goin’ stay right hyuh wid y’all till de party break up.”
His resolve was greeted with merry laughter and good-natured raillery; during which, Dink went back to his seat and began playing on the comb:
“I’m goin’-a lay down my burden down by de river-side,