“’Caze, honey,” replied Phyllis, seating herself in a chair beside the hammock, “he thought you had done jine Cap’n Yall’r Jackit’s army ter fight ’ginst him.”
“What they going to fight about?” Willis began to fidget to see the fight.
“Set still, boy, you’ll th’ow dis gal clean out’n de hammock.” She readjusted both of them, and resumed her seat. “Dey fightin’ ov’r dat ole pan er dirty cid’r settin’ out yond’r b’hime de ash-hopp’r. Yer see Cap’n Yall’r Jackit an’ Cap’n Hornit, bofe uv’ em, jes’ er gwine back’ards an’ fur’ards ’mongst de varmints, tryin’ ter see which one kin git de mo’es fokes ter jine der side. Miss Queen Bee tell ’em, hit’s de bizzy season in de honey biznes’ an’ she ain’ got no time ter fool wid none uv ’em. Cap’n Yall’r Jackit sorter stop and study, he do, den he g’long down de big road tell he come up wid Mist’r Grab-All Spid’r. He pass howdy wid ’im, den he ’nounce:
“‘Mist’r Grab-All, ’cose you gwine jine de Yall’r Jackits’ side, ain’t yer?’
“Grab-All Spid’r sort’r op’n an’ shet his claws an’ th’ow his ’bark’r quid on de uth’r side his jaw an’ ’spon’:
“‘Nor, I’m jes’ er plain ole biznes’ man,—I ain’ got no fightin’ sense like dese rip snortin’, hifalutin’ solger boys. I’ll jes’ stan’ off an’ watch de battle, but,’ sez he, ‘I hopes you’ll whup de fight, Cap’n Yall’r Jackit, ’pon de wurd uv er gent’mun I does, ’caze dat pan er cid’r’s wuth er tussle, an’ youse de man ter make hit.’
“MIST’R GRAB-ALL, ’COSE YOU GWINE JINE
DE YALL’R JACKITS SIDE, AIN’T YER?”
“Yall’r Jackit sorter swell hisse’f out er lit’le big’r, an’ Mist’r Grab-All roll hisse’f up in er ball like he bin sleep er hundred ye’rs, an’ ain’ nuv’r heah tell uv er Yall’r Jackit in his life.
“Bimeby, hyah come Cap’n Hornit zoonin’ down de big road. Old Grab-All Spid’r onrap hisse’f an’ start ter stretchin’ his legs out, an’ chawin’ on his bark’r quid ergin.