“Uncle Tom!” she yells. “Uncle Tom! What have they done to you?”
Jist then my mouth busts loose, and I says, “They got me drunk and painted me with black enamel, and I can lick any damn’ man —”
Zibe kicked me on the bare ankle and hisses in my ears, “Shut up, you danged fool!”
“Haw, haw, haw, haw, haw!” roars Dog-Rib. “That’s actin’!”
“O-o-o-o-oh!” wails Susie. “They sold you, Uncle Tom.”
“Somebody got gypped,” says Nebrasky Smith.
“I got him in that boatload of niggers down at Nashville,” says Zibe. “I recognized him right away, and I knowed you’d like to buy him back.”
“Oh, I’d love to buy him back,” says Susie, “but we ain’t got no money, Mister Legree.”
“Lotta good work left in that nigger,” says Zibe. “How about tradin’ me yore racehorse for him?”
Zibe kicks me in the ankle and whispers, “Beg her not to. Go ahead and beg.”