“You late in de day gittin’ in yo’ sayso, ’caze Mist’r Rattlesnake bite you ef you fools wid ’im; he ain’ nuv’r git in er good hum’r wid nobody sense de Lawd make him wurk fur his livin’. He bin crawlin’ crookid, an’ doin’ fokes crookid ev’r sense.”
“How does he work?” Willis pulled her face to him.
“He wurk makin’ uth’r fokes do his wurk fur ’im, dat’s how he wurk. His ole ’ooman an’ de chillun keep de sto’, an’ Unk Toad Frog try ter wurk de farm fur ’im, but Mist’r Rattlesnake done eat up so miny er de Toad Frog fambly dat Unk Toad ain’ got nuf han’s lef’ ter make er crap. He tell Mist’r Rattlesnake ef he doan git sumbody ter hope him, he ain’ gwine have no corn, so Mist’r Rattlesnake take out down de big road huntin’ fur farm han’s, he do. He come ter er passel er Hop’r Grasses settin’ down on de side de road doin’ nuthin’, an’ he tell ’em ef dey come an’ hope him raise er crap er corn, he’ll give ’em ha’f de crap. Well, suh, dem Hop’r Grasses plow an’ hoe, an’ weed, an’ pick bugs off an’—”
“Mammy, don’t call them ‘hopper grasses,’ Mary Van says you must say ‘Grass-hoppers.’”
“In de name er de Lawd, whut do Ma’y Van know ’bout varmints an’ beastes?”
“My papa says you must call them Grass-hoppers,” protested Mary Van.
“I doan speck Mist’r Hop’r Grass menshun ter yo’ pa dat Hop’r wus jes’ er nickname, did he?”
The little girl was obliged to acknowledge that no such communication had taken place.
“Den he ain’ got no ’pin’ons ter scat’r on de subjec’—Hop’r Grass say he wush ter de Lawd fokes’d stop nam’n’ him hine part b’fo’, ennyhow. He say he plum ti’ed white fokes med’lin’ in his ’far’s—”
“Mammy, go on about Mister Rattlesnake,” Willis began to fidget.