“Take a seat, sir. What is the name?”
“John Turpin is my name, suh.”
“And what amount do you wish to obtain, Mr. Turpin?”
“I reckon about $3,000 would answer the puppus, suh.”
“Where is your property, Mr. Turpin, and what does it consist of?”
“It is on the White Creek, in Madison County. There are foh hundred acres of cotton land. There is a house, bahn, and outbuildings in faih condition, suh, but I don’t count them as much, in a money way.”
“What do you estimate to be the value of the land?”
“Befo the wah it sold for fohty dollahs an acre. Land went very low aftahwuds, but the land has not been crapped, and of late yeahs, business has picked up mightily in old Alabama, and it ought to be wuth as much now as it ever wor.”
“How long have you been farming it there?”
“Well, not at all, suh. The place was owned by my uncle, and he jest lived there since the wah, and never tried to make a crap. He was Captain of Company K of the Ninety-third Alabama. He was wounded at Chickamauga. Both of his sons were killed at the second battle of the Wilderness; his wife died while they were all away, and when he kem back he seemed to lose all interest like. He couldn’t abide free niggahs ever, and there were no othahs, and foh twenty-seven yeahs he jest moped around the old place, raisin’ only a little cohn, and a few hogs and some geyahden truck. Last spring he died, and the place has fallen to me. There is no debt on it, and it’s prime cotton land, but it will take right smaht of money to clean off the land and put in a crap.”