”Mammy, can’t my papa be mayor if he wants to?” bragged Willis, darting a satisfied look at Mary Van.
“I’ll tell yer mo’ ’bout dat dis time termorrer,” was the unexpected reply.
“Yahn, yahn, yahn,” taunted Mary Van.
“He can, too,” retorted Willis.
Willis’s papa was a candidate for mayor, hence in the family politics colored the conversation from the parlor through the nursery even to the kitchen.
“De reason I says whut I does,” Mammy apologized, “is ’caze dey tells me er dark hoss kin jump in at de las’ minit an bus’ de whole thing all ter pieces.”
“Does he kick up and run away?” Willis jerked at her apron to hasten the reply.
“Dey runs erway wid de ’lection sometimes, ef de uth’r run’rs ain’ sho’ nuf race hosses an’ got mighty strong harnes’ on ’em.”
“Mammy, less me an’ Mary Van be race hosses, an’ you be er dark hoss, an’ see which one can beat.”