'Why, Joe, I'm astonished,' I exclaimed with unaffected gratification; 'you write like a schoolmaster.'
A flush, which would have been a blush on a lighter skin, overspread the negro's face, as he replied:
'I don't hab practice 'nuff, Mr. Kirke, to write bery well.'
'Practice!' said Preston, 'he has constant practice; he writes the love letters of all the darkies in the district.'
'It am so, dat's a fac, sar', said Joe, a quiet humor twinkling in his eye. 'One ob Cunnel Dawsey's folk came to me tother day—his wife had been sold down Souf, an' he wanted to say to har, dat dough ribers rose, and mountins run atween 'em, he'd neber hab nuffin to do wid no oder 'ooman—so he come to me, and I wrote de letter; an' when I'd a put in all de ribers, an' de mountins, an' eber so many runs, an' thought I'd done it right smart, I read it ober to him, but he say he sort o' reckoned it warnt quite done up 'pletely, not 'xactly 'cluded; an' he 'sisted dat I muss 'sert a pose scrip, axin' her to ''scuse de bad writin'.''
'And you did it?'
'Yes, sar, I done it.'
'Well, Joe, the important thing just now, is how much you owe. Give me a slip of paper, and let me put these balances together.'
'I'se done dat, Mr. Kirke; here dey am,' and he handed me a correctly drawn-up statement, showing Preston's exact liabilities. I glanced over it, compared it with the footings in the ledger, and said:
'I see by this, Preston, that you owe seventeen hundred dollars, floating debt; twelve hundred dollars, interest on your mortgage, and are overdrawn five hundred dollars on our house.'