“Des like Gawd make de young man lif’ up ’is tenshun w’en he hyeah de soun’ o’ de young gal voice, comin’ up de lane, singin’ bol’ so she kin ’tract ’im?—Dat ain’ natchal?... Shucks! Ole crazy nigger. You gotta study yo’ lesson a heap mo’, befo’ you go ’roun’ hyuh preachin’ to people so biggidy.” Appearing fully satisfied with the delivery of his colorful remonstrance, Nat turned to Dink and said quietly: “Boy, go yonder an’ play on yo’ comb till you make dese squinched-up niggers ’maginashun change, an’ dey finds out dat de sperret got yuther ways o’ movin’ ’um ’sides preachin’ on Bible texes an’ things.” “Dah, bless Gawd!” Nookie exclaimed. “Unc’ Nat done win. Done put Mr. Felo out on a home run.” “Felo ain’ gone, is he?” Tom inquired. “No. Felo hyuh,” Susan told him. “Mr. Felo, you ain’ goin’, is you?” Scilla asked solicitously. “Who?” Felo replied, with calm amazement. “Felo goin’ stay right hyuh wid y’all till de party break up.” His resolve was greeted with merry laughter and good-natured raillery; during which, Dink went back to his seat and began playing on the comb: “I’m goin’-a lay down my burden down by de river-side, Down by de river-side, down by de river-side; I’m goin’-a lay down my burden down by de river-side, An’ I ain’ goin’ study war no mo’.” He came to the refrain, and every voice took up the words, singing with increasing fervor, until the song rolled like a pæan of deliverance: “Ain’ goin’ study war no mo’ Ain’ goin’ study war no mo’ Ain’ goin’ study ... war ... no ... mo’....” The stirring refrain was drawing towards the end, when the door opened and another member came in. The new-comer was a man about thirty years old; known to everybody in the village as Gussie Fisky. He was well-built; with a wealth of unkempt, reddish-blond hair, and a shaggy mustache of the same color. His eyes were large and gray, and stared with a reckless, determined air. His complexion was one of remarkable sallowness; and his features, while plain and commonplace, were free from every negroid characteristic; having certain regularities of cast that declared him indubitably a white man, however ordinary the extraction. A strange mystery surrounded Gussie’s origin. A mystery known to no one except old Aunt Fisky, the kindly colored woman with whom he lived, the only mother he had ever known. There were many legends related regarding Gussie’s origin, his birth, and his abandonment by his white family; some ribald, some romantic; any of which Gussie never troubled himself to comment on or disprove. He knew that he was white; that Aunt Fisky had raised him from infancy, and had given him her name; that he had lived his inconsequent years among illiterate Negroes; that it was sheer madness to hope to be received as a fellow-man by white people who despised him; and that life was nothing more than a merry game for anyone who could play it with a reckless spirit.