J. Poindexter, ColoredCobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury)
General
J. Poindexter, Colored
Cobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury)
African Americans -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction
"Yas suh," I says. "Now, f'rinstances," I says, "you tek the 'foresaid
Mr. H. C. Raynor. Wen you spoke to him of lawsuits yistiddy he mouty
nigh laffed in yore face, didn't he? Well, 'at shows he ain't got no
dread of lawsuits. Prob'ly he's been mixed up in 'em befo'; most
doubtless he knows the science of lawsuitin' frum the startin'-tape to
the home-stretch. An' lakwise he'd have the bulge on you w'en it come to
makin' figgers wu'k out lak he wanted 'em to, so he'd 'pear to be inside
his rights an' you'd 'pear to be on the wrong side of the docket. I
persume he's had a 'bundance of 'sperience in sech matters, w'ich you
ain't. He knows his own system an' he knows you don't know it, w'ich
fortifies him yit fu'ther. All right, suh, so much fur that. But
s'posen, now, on the other hand, we wuz to layway him an' jump out of
ambushmint at him wid a brand-new notion? I jedges he ain't got no
rippertation to speak of, so losin' whut lil' scraps of it he mout have
left wouldn't keep him 'wake nights worryin', 'specially effen he'd
already salted away the cash w'ich he craved. But he do own somethin'
w'ich he prizes most highly or elsewise I misses my guess--he's got a
skin w'ich he's managed some way, by hook, or crook, to keep it whole up
to now. An' ef right out of a clear sky he suddenly wuz faced wid
prospect of havin' it all punctured up in mebbe fo', five, or six
places, I figgers he mout start singin' a diff'unt song frum the one
w'ich at the present 'pears to be his fav'rit' selection.
"There's just one thing more," I says, "Prob'ly it's 'scaped yore
'tention, Mr. Dallas, but I's been steddyin' Mr. H. C. Raynor off an' on
an' I has took note 'at he's got some very curiousome idees in his haid
'bout the kind of folkses you an' me is. Didn't it never occur to you,
suh, 'at he thinks practically all Southern w'ite gen'elmen is a heap
more hot-haided an' fiery-blooded 'en whut the run of 'em really is?
Didn't it never occur to you frum his talk, 'at he figgers 'at most
ev'ry thorough-bred Kintuckian is prone to settle his argumints wid
fo'ty-fo' calliber ca'tridges? Well, I's read his thoughts 'long them
lines, even ef you ain't, an' I'm shore I got him placed right. Tha's
whut I'm countin' on now, suh," I says; "tha's whar'in lays our maindest
dependince. Does you see whut I'm aimin' at, suh? Or does you don't?"
He ain't needing to answer. His face is beginning to light up and his
eyeballs is starting to dance in his head. So I knows the time is come
for me to cease from preambling and get right down to cases. Which I
accordingly does so.
I tells him the greatest part of what I aims to do. I tells him what-all
he's to do. I tells him what 'll be the signal for him to bust into the
picture. I tells him how he should deport hisself after he's done so. I
can tell him what should be done up to a certain point, but, past that,
as I says to him, he'll just have to let Nature take its coarseness.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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