"I HOPE you all young gentermens is well,"
said Uncle Remus, as he entered the editorial
rooms of " The Constitution," the other day.
" I mighty po'ly myse'f, but dat ain't hender
me from hopin' dat yuther folks is keepin'
way from de doctor shops. Many is de Po'
creeter w'at done been ter doctor shops one
time too much. Yit look at me. I bin dar
mighty nigh much ez anybody, en Miss Sally
say dey 's lots er hard work in me yit, 'vidin'
anybody kin git it out'n me. In my young
days I use ter year talk dat de nighest road
ter de buryin'-groun' wuz 'roun' by de doctor
shop, but 'spite er dat I keeps on taking
der truck, en I ain't see dat it do me no harm.
Ef any you young gentermens gits ter feel
in' low down in de sperets, en sorter 'quare
in de naborhoods er de gizzard, you des
rack 'roun' to Mars Dock Alexander en git
some er dem ar quiernine en blue mast
pills, en ef dey don't set you up, you kin des
lay de blame onter me. When ole Miss was
'live, de doctor 'd come 'roun"bout dis time er
year, en all de niggers, little en big, 'ad hatter
come up en git a dost er jollup en callymel;
but deze days you gotter hunt de doctor up
en git a piece er paper en beat 'roun' town
twel you kin fine some un fer ter mix up
de truck."
Uncle Remus paused, and then broke into
a loud laugh.
"W'at de name er goodness is I doin'?
des crope up yer fer ter ax you all young gen
termens sump'n, en yer I is runnin' on like a
cat-bird in a peach orchard. I dunner how
you all is, but I ain't got no time fer ter be
projickin'."
"Gracious heaven!" exclaimed one of the
young men, "do you hear that? He says he
hasn't got time! Won't somebody lead him
out and ask him to call again and say one
word - one little word - when he has got
time?"
"En needer is I got time fer ter be runnin'
on 'longer you all," Uncle Remus retorted in
dignantly. "You all kin take yo' shears an'
split dem ar newspapers wide open, but ole
Remus can't take no shears en cut truck outer
t'er folks gyardin, kaze ef 1 did dey'd slap de
law on me. En ef I ain't got time ter stan'
yer en talk, co'se I ain't got no time fer ter
be gwine ter law. Dat gyardin out dar at
Wes' Een' callin' me right now, en I ain't got
a minnit ter spar' - dat I ain't."
"Suppose you go down in the fire-escape,"
some one suggested, but Uncle Remus ignored
the hint.
"Man down dar on de street ax how I gwine
vote dis time, en I des runned up yer fer ter
ax you all gentermens ef deyer a gwinter be
n'er 'lection in de Nunited States er Georgy."
"Why, of course there is!"
"Now ain't dat too much!" exclaimed
Uncle Remus with unmistakable bitterness.
"Man go up en vote, en he ain't got time ter
change his cloze 'fo' he gotter rack up en vote
ag'in."
"Why, have n't you heard about Boynton,
Bacon, and the rest?"
"I year Miss Sal]y readin' out names en
dates, en 'sputin' 'longer Mars John, but I
tuck de idee dey wuz one er deze yer cake-
walks gwine on up dar."
"Up where?"
"Up dar whar de sleepin' kyars comes fum;
some'rs up dar."
"He seems to be thoroughly familiar with
the geography of our common country" re
marked one of the young men.
Uncle Remus grinned broadly.
"I lay dey don't fool me on de cake-walk,
kaze dey wuz a nigger man in one un um;
but w'at pester me is deze yer 'sections foller
in' atter one er n'er des lak a drove er sheep.
Eve'y time dey comes, ole Remus gits in
trouble wuss en wuss."
"Why so?"
"Des kaze. Mars John en Miss Sally gits
ter 'sputin' 'bout w'ich de bes' man, en den
dey comes atter me. Hit 's 'Remus, how you
gwine ter vote?' en 'No, you ain't,' en 'Yes
you is,' ontwel I des natally gits vo' out.
Hit 's pull en haul, pull en haul, day in en
day out, en I ain't got no peace er min' twel
'lection day done gone. Miss Sally say vote
dish year way, Mars John say vote dat ar way,
en w'en dat de case, w'at a ole nigger like
me gwine do?"
"Well, how do you vote, after all?"
"Dat w'at I want to know: dat des zackly
w'at I 'm atter. Mars John, he 'low he de
boss; yit I notices dat w'en Miss Sally say I
ain't gwine to git no gravy on my grits, dey
ain't no gravy dar, en de man w'at kin eat
grits widout gravy is got mo' strenk in his
stummuck dan w'at I is. Bum dis out twel
atter de 'lection done good en gone, you kin
des put it down dat de rheumatiz done struck
me in de j'ints, en hit'll be dat servigrous dat
I can't move skacely. En eve'y time dey say
vote, I 'm a-gwine ter grunt en groan like one
er deze yer Wes' P'int ingines. But shoo!
I ain't got time fer ter be runnin' on yer wid
you all."