A. L. Camp, Jr.
(Old Wash is a Baptist and it was with great difficulty and many misgivings that I induced him to go out to the Episcopal church recently and hear the Bishop of Tennessee preach. The old man went wild over the sermon and this is the peculiar way he took to tell about it.)
“Wal, sah, I went in dar an’ sot down in dat part of de gran’stand set off fur de colored folks. I look erroun’ an’ seed leetle bannisters an’ things runnin’ ’roun’ ’bout de pooties’ an’ neates’ mile track you eber seed, wid de fence all painted wid gold an’ lit up wid ’lectric lights. B’utiful pictures hung up in de club house gallery an’ de soft light cum in through de painted winders. I tell you, sah, dese yere Piscolopiums kno’ how to keep up dey church track, if dey do stick to de high-wheel sulky, an’ kinder think dat er record made dar, at dat way ob gwine, will ’title ’em to registration in de final year book quicker’n enny yudder track. An’ it wuz er good un—for it run erroun’ es smooth es er widder’s courtship, an’ it hed bin harrered an’ scraped an’ rolled till it wus es slick as er carpet ob banana peels.
“You ain’t nurver noticed how dese church tracks differ frum one ernudder, hes you, Boss?” asked the old man, with a sly smile. “Wal, dey do. Now, ef dat hed bin er Mefodis’ track it wouldn’t er had no fence erroun’ it, kinder free fur all, no money to be paid at de gate, and free lunch fur ebrybody. If it hed er bin a Baptis’ track it would er bin out in some big medder bottom, an’ stid ob bein’ roun’ it would jes’ foller de meanderin’s ob de ribber, handy fur spungin’ off de horses. An’ dey wouldn’t ’low nuffin’ to go on dat track but pacers, either, an’ dey must all be ob de Hal fambly—kinder close kin, yer kno’. De Presberterians would er hed dey track es roun’ es it cu’d be, an’ sech er high, whitewashed fence ’roun’ it dat nobody cu’d see ober it, an’ ’bout ebry ha’f hour dey would run out er big fo’-hoss sprinkler, furever sprinklin’ it, eben fur de yearlin’ races. Oh, it’s funny ter see how dey all differ!” he said.
“But dar dis one wuz, es pooty es it cu’d be, an’ free fur all. An’ jes’ off to de lef’ dey hed de nices’ leetle jedges’ stan’, all painted in silver an’ trimmed wid gold, while de timers’ box sat on de right, wid leetle peep-holes in it an’ pictures ob flyin’ things wid wings jes’ erbove—hosses dat hed broke de records, I ’spec. Jes’ den de ban’ in de ban’ stan’ struck up de sweetes’ music I urver heerd. It went all through my soul an’ made me feel like I wus er chile ergin an’ my good ole mammy, long dead an’ gone, wus singin’ me ter sleep at de cabin on de ole plantashun to de tune ob ‘De Ole Folks at Home.’ Den de perfume floated out like de smell ob de jess’mins I useter smell by de cabin do’, an’ de candles flickered on de quarter posts like de fireflies in de dusk ob my childhood days, an’ all dese things jes’ made me hongry to heah sum gospil ergin. Bimeby sum leetle angel boys, all dressed in white, wid shinin’ collars, cum marchin’ in, singin’ an’ bringin’ programs fur de races in dey han’s—leastwise dat’s whut I tuk ’em to be. I tell you, sah, it wuz gran’, an’ es I sot dar an’ tuck it all in an’ looked at dat shinin’ track wid de golden fence, I sed to myself:
“‘Great Scott! but ef dey can’t go fast on dis track, I lakter kno’ whut de yuse ob tryin’ enny yudder!’
“When de music stopped, de feller in de jedges’ stan’ made some ’nouncements, an’ den he ’lowed dat de Bishop ob Tennessee would go er exerbishun mile ergin time, an’ den I heerd de bell ring tingerling, tingerling, an’ de ban’ struck up lively lak, an’ de Bishop cum pacin’ in. Soon es I looked at ’im, sez I:
“‘He’ll do—he’s er good un! Got mos’ too much riggin’ on ’im to suit my taste, but den ebry man knows whut’s bes’ fur his own hoss. Ef he wuz mine I’d take off dat sweater an’ white blankit wid red embroidery, dem knee boots an’ dat obercheck. His gait’s all right an’ true es clockwork, an’ he don’t need nuffin’ but er pair ob quarter boots an’ fo’-ounce shoes. But dat’s all right,’ I said ergin, ‘eberybody knows whut’s bes’ fur his own hoss, an’ dem fancy riggin’s am pooty, ter-be-sho’.’
“Graceful? He wus es graceful es er swan on er silver lake, an’ es he paced up de quarter stretch to sco’ down I seed dat he wuz gwinter gib de recurd er close call. Down he cum so smooth you cudden’t see his riggin’, an’ es nachul es er eagle draps frum his mountin’ peak in de valley belo’. Dey didn’t hafter say ‘go’ to him but onc’t, an’ den he went erway lak er winged angel on de top spar ob er flyin’ yot.
“‘He that loseth his life for my sake shall save it,’ he said, an’ ebry lick he hit went home to de ole man’s hart. Oh, hit wuz er clip. He tuck up Greek art an’ literachure an’ he painted it so beautiful you cu’d see de statue ob Diana beam outen his eyes an’ de grace ob Apollo fall frum his hands. Away he went at dat pooty clip till he sud’n’y shifted his gait an’ struck de follies ob dis wurl, an’ den I seed whut all dat riggin’ wus fur, fur he turned it into er toga an’ he looked like Jupiter es he shook de roof wid his speed an’ his stride.