“Go off, boy, how I gwine make dese trashy creeturs vote fur high tone fokes like yo’ pa an’ Mist’r Race Hoss? Dey dunno nuthin’ ’cep’n whut de murchine tell ’em ter vote,” shaking her head in condemnation and mumbling to herself. “Sometimes I studies ter m’se’f ef de wimmin fokes cud do enny bett’r.”
“Mammy Phyllis, please make somebody come to Mister Race Horse’s meetin’,” urged Mary Van.
“Doan you both’r yose’f ’bout dat meetin’, ’caze Ned Dog both’rin’ nuf fur bofe uv yer. He go tell Mist’r Rooster ter telerfome ter Mist’r Turk’y Gobler, an’ Mist’r Peacock, an’ he tell Mist’r Bloodhoun’ fur him ter run an’ tell Mist’r Jersey Cow, an’—”
“An’ Mister Turtle,” suggested Willis, trying to help the meeting along.
“Nor, suh, ole man Mud Turtle ain’ got no bisnes’ at dis meetin’, he ’longs wid de Bline Billy crowd. Ef you talkin’ ’bout Mist’r Di’mon’ Back Terrapin, den you’se right, ’caze he wus dar on de amen bench, an’—”
“Where were the sheep, Mammy?”
“Dat’s so, baby, I mos’ fergit all ’bout de ’spute Unk Bell Weth’r an’ ole Daddy Ram Sheep had ’bout de mat’r. Daddy Ram Sheep wanter vote fur Bline Billy, but Unk Bell Weth’r say dey got ter heah mo’ speakin’ ’fo’ dey got nuf sense ter know which one de bes’ side.
“Well, de speakin’ start’ an’ I tell yer hit kep’ up scand’lus, too.
“Mist’r Race Hoss ’vite Bline Billy an’ Brer Bar bofe uv ’em ter speak wid ’im, but Brer Bar feer’d ter, an’ ev’y time Jack Donkey say he gwine mix speeches wid Mist’r Race Hoss, ole Uncle Gee-Haw Steer giv’ er big kick ’ginst hit.
“He say, ‘Twon’ do, twon’ do!’