Want to hang it up in my ole cabin.
His tone rises to one of eager pleading.
Mars Beelah, you give it to me! For Gawd's sake, say Ole Uncle Abe kin have it, to hang up in his ole cabin.
Beeler.
Well, if you feel as strong as that about it, Abe, take it along.
Uncle Abe.
As he unpins it with feverish eagerness.
Thank ye, Mistah Beelah, thank ye. I'll wo'k fur ye and I'll slave fur ye, long as the worl' stan's. Maybe it ain't goin' to stan' much longer aftah all. Maybe de chariot's comin' down in de fiery clouds fo' great while. An' what'll yo' ole Uncle Abe be doin'? He'll be on his knees 'fore a big roarin' fire, singing hallelujah, an' a-jammin' red-hot needles right plum' frough dis heah black devil's breas' bone! I'se got him now! I'll fix'm.
Shakes his fist at the print, as he goes toward the kitchen.
Put yo' black spell on the Lawd's chosen, would ye? I'se got ye. I'll make ye sing, "Jesus, my ransom," right out'n yo' ugly black mouf!