“What? Are you tired already? Why, it is not half up. Go on and have a good time, Micajah.”
“‘GO ON AND HAVE A GOOD TIME, MICAJAH’”
Micajah looked crestfallen, and ambled off as the Judge rode away. “Er whole mont’, an’ hit hain’t half up! Well, dar’s dis erbout hit, dat’s one comfort—dem niggers kin ’buse me lack dey pleases, an’ dey gwine sweat an’ groan fur dey fun; but dis freedom gwine ter fotch hit ter me lack I were white, ef I des set an’ wait. Dey don’ git tired er settin’ an’ waitin’ fur hit ter come ter ’em, an’ I des bardaciously gwine steddy some more white folks’ ways ’sides totin’ de book.”
But the blissful contemplation ended as he neared his own cabin. In the doorway sat the fan-bearer, his tears having been wiped away by Cage’s good dinner, which had arrived from the Big House during the consultation with his master, and to which the imp had bountifully helped himself. Micajah’s heart was sore, but he smothered his wrath until he had made his meal, while the fan-bearer, with a fragment of belief still in Micajah’s powers, employed the time in feeling again for the incipient ’gater. Then Micajah rapped imperiously upon the table.
“You Amaziah!” The little negro dodged. “You infernal lazy black raskil, Amaziah!”
“Huh!” whimpered the boy.
“You lim’ er Satan, you lizard-eyed nigger, don’ you say ’huh’ ter me! You git me er coal and light my pipe quick! Fill up dat pipe fust, you lazy purp! What you got holes in yo’ head fur, hah? Um, um. Now git dat fan an’ fan dese here foots twel I tells you ter quit. You heah me!”
The man of freedom was stretched at full length, with a wreath of smoke about his head and his eyes closed to the world; the little black piece of misery was crouched beside him; and so daylight waned and the twilight came on; then the fan dropped from the bearer’s hand; he was fast asleep, and so was Micajah.