“Oh, yes. De ’Publicans dey was in one pen by deyselves, an’ de Democrats dey was all in a pen, too.”
“Was de white an’ de black ’Publicans in de same pen?”
“Yes, dey was all togedder in de same pen.”
“What was dey all a-doin’?”
“Well, I ’clar to goodness, w’en I looked in dat ar pen an’ seed ’em, it peered like ebbery blame white ’Publikin had a niggah in his arms a-holdin’ him up ’twixt him an’ de fire to cotch de heft o’ de heat.”
“I estimate that this story,” said the politician, “was good for at least twelve hundred colored votes on our side in this campaign.”
BRANDIED PEACHES
The guests were all gathered in the parlor laughing and talking, when the host was suddenly summoned by his wife for a brief consultation in the dining-room before dinner was served.
“Tom,” said she, in evident alarm, “what shall I do? I have nothing for dessert but brandied peaches, and there’s Dr. Brown, the Methodist minister, in the company. I never thought about him—you know he’s such a strict temperance person.”
Tom said he was sorry, but it was evidently too late to change the schedule, and that they would just have to trust to luck.