“Well, when was it? And how do you know when it was?” Leech asked, sharply.
“‘Twuz when de big picture o’ de ghos’ in de gret hall fall down the lass’ time, jes b’fo’ de war. Mr. Still had jes come back from de Souf de day befo’, an’ him and marster wuz in the gret hall togerr talkin’ ’bout things, and Mr. Still had jes ontie he picket-book an’ gin marster back de papers, when de win’ blow ’em on de flo’ an’ de picture come down out de frame ’quebang, most ’pon top my haid.”
“Stop him! For God’s sake! stop him,” muttered Still, clutching at Leech’s arm. The lawyer did not catch his words, and turned to him. Still was deadly pale. “Stop him!” he murmured. A stillness had fallen on the court-room, and the crowd was listening. Leech saw that something had happened.
“Hold on. Stop! How do you know this?” His tone was suddenly combative.
“Hi! I wuz right dyah onder it, and it leetle mo’ fall ’pon top my haid.” Doan gave a nod of satisfaction as he recalled his escape. “Yes, suh, I thought he had got me dat time sho’!” he chuckled, with a comical glance at the negroes before him, who roused up at the reminiscence and laughed at his whimsical look. “‘Twuz in de spring, and I wuz paintin’ de hearth wid red paint, and marster an’ de overseer was talkin’ togerr at de secretary by de winder ’bout de new plantation down Souf; an’ I wuz doin’ mo’ lis’nin ’n paintin’, cuz when I heah Mr. Still say he hadn’ buyed all de lan’ an’ niggers marster ’spected him to buy and had done bring he barn back, I wuz wonderin’ what that wuz an’ ef dee’d sen’ any o’ our blackfolks down Souf; and thunderstorm come up right sudden, an’ b’fo’ dee pull de winder down, blowed dem papers, what Mr. Still bring back an’ teck out he pocket an’ gi’ to marster, off de secretary down on de flo’, and slam de do’ so hard de old Ingin-killer fall right out de frame mos’ ’pon top my haid. Yas, suh, I wuz dyah sho’!” He was telling the incident of the picture and not of the papers, and the crowd was deeply interested. Even the Judge was amused. Still, with white face, was clutching Leech’s arm, making him signals to stop the witness; and Leech, not yet wholly comprehending, was waiting for a pause to do so, without its being too marked. But Doan was too well launched to stop. He flowed on easily: “I holp Mr. Still to put de picture back in the frame an’ nail’t up after marster had done put de paper what he call he ‘barn,’ in de hole behine it, an’ I tell you I didn’t like it much nohow. An’ Mr. Still didn’ like it much nurr.”
“Stop him!” whispered Still, agonizingly.
“Here, this is all nonsense,” broke in Leech, angrily. “You don’t know what Mr. Still thought. You know that he came back from the South some year that there was a thunderstorm, and a picture was blown out of a frame or fell down. And that’s all you know. You don’t know what Mr. Still thought or anything else.” But Doan was by this time at his ease, enjoying the taste of publicity.
“Yas, suh, I does, cuz I hear him say so. I holp him nail de picture back after marster had done put dem very papers Mr. Still gi’ him back in de hole behine it. An’ I hear Mr. Still tell marster ’t ef it wuz him he’d be skeered, cuz dee say ’twuz bad luck to anybody in de house ef de picture fall; and marster say he wa’n’t skeered, dat ef anything happen to him he could trust Mr. Still, an’ he’d put de papers in de hole behine de picture, so ef anyone ever fine ’em dee’d see what a faithful man he had; he had trus’ him wid he barn for thousan’s o’ dollars, an’ he brung it back, an’ he gwine nail de picture up now so ’twon’ come down no mo’.”
“Oh! Your master said he felt he could trust Mr. Still?” said Leech, brightening, catching this crumb of comfort.
“Yas, suh.”