“What’s that?” cried the patrolman.
“Tuck-tuck-a-wack!!”
“I’se just imitatin’ a chicken clackin’. (Tuck-tuck, tuck, tuck awah’)—hear dat? Folks says I’se de bes’ natural bo’n animal imetator in de—(Tuck, tuck, a wack.) Some folks say it’s a gift to imetate an animal so natural. Folks say I imetate better than the animal itself.—(Tuck, tuck a wack.)”
“I think if you unbuttoned your coat you could give a much better imitation.”
“No, sah! I must have it tight around my abdomen to get de true, natural soun’. (Tuck, a, luck.)”
The darky’s coat was agitated by the struggling hen, a button popped off and the bird suddenly thrust its head into view. Rastus slowly scratched his head.
“Now whare do you t’ink dat come from? I thought I was givin’ an onusually fine impersonation.”
Everyone laughed.
“They’re awfully funny, those coons,” said the young man. “You-all ought to see them jigging in the moonlight, playing on their banjos and dancing, all impromptu. It beats any minstrel show you-all ever saw. And they have beautiful voices. But they will lie and steal.”
He became serious.