Caesar: Miss Lucy tetch you on de shoulder, wid a sword, an say: “Ah mek you a knight; rise up, pure an fearless an widout reproach.” Dat what Miss Lucy say. Dat’s been a long time ago, but me nor you ain’t forgot it. An den dar’s another time we ain’t forgot—de time when Miss Lucy lay on her las bed. She sent for Uncle Caesar, an she say: “Uncle Caesar, when Ah die, Ah want you to take good care of Marse Jedge. Seem like”—so Miss Lucy say—“he listen to you mo dan to anybody else. He apt to be mighty fractious sometimes, an maybe he cuss you when you try to suade him, but he need somebody what understan him to be roun wid him. He am like a little child sometimes”—so Miss Lucy say, wid her eyes shinin in her po, thin face—“but he always been”—dem was her words—“my knight, pure an fearless an widout reproach.”
Judge: You—you old windbag! I believe you are crazy. I told you to go home, Caesar. Miss Lucy said that, did she? Well, we haven’t kept the scutcheon very clear. Two years ago last week, wasn’t it, Caesar, when she died? Confound it! Are you going to stand there all night gabbing like a coffee-colored gander?
Caesar: Marse Jedge, fo Gawd’s sake, doan take dis wid you. Ah knows what’s in it. Don kyar it wid you. Dey’s big trouble in dat valise for you. Hit’s bound to destroy de name of Adair an bow down dem dat own it wid shame and triberlation. Marse Judge, you can kill dis ole nigger ef you will, but don’t take away dis hyar valise. If Ah ever crosses over de Jordan, what Ah gwine to say to Miss Lucy when she ax me: “Uncle Caesar, wharfo didn you take good care of Marse Jedge?”
Judge: Caesar, you have overstepped all bounds. You have presumed upon the leniency with which you have been treated to meddle unpardonably. So you know what is in this satchel! Your long and faithful service is some excuse, but—go home, Caesar—not another word!
Caesar: Marse Jedge, gimme dis hyar valise. Ah got a right, suh, to talk to you dis hyar way. Ah slaved fo you an tended to you from a child up. I went th’ough de war as yo body-servant tell we whipped de Yankees an sent em back to de No’th. Ah was at yo weddin, an Ah was n fur away when yo Miss Azalea was bawn. Ah been a Adair, all cept in color an ’titlements. Both of us is old, Marse Jedge. Taint goin to be long tell we gwine to see Miss Lucy an has to give an account of our doins. De ole nigger man wont be spected to say much mo dan he done all he could by de famly dat owned him. But de Adairs, dey must say dey been livin pure an fearless an widout reproach. Gimme dis valise, Marse Jedge—Ah’m gwine to hab it. Ah’m gwine to do Miss Lucy’s biddin. Turn er loose, Marse Jedge.
Judge: Take it, Caesar. And let the subject drop—now mind! You’ve said quite enough.
Jennings (calls off right): Hello, there, Judge! Are you comin? (enters, as Colonel Gwathmey, in fishing costume, with rods) We’ll miss that train. What’s the matter here?
Judge: Well, Colonel, I’ve been having a little trouble. I came in to get the liquor that I had in this suit-case—
Caesar (with gestures of amazement and confusion): What’s dat you say, Marse Jedge?
Judge: I said the liquor that I had in this suit-case. What did you think I had in it?