“‘Yes,’ ’low de man, ‘dey tells me dat you’s one uv de mos’ prominent cul’ud gentlemens in dis section uv de country. I knows dat’s so fur you looks smarter dan de res’ I’s seed down here!’ “I seed Tite swell up a little when de man tell him dat. Niggers’ haids des lak white folks’, dey gits mighty big sometime. “‘Well, Mr. Robinson, dere’s a better day comin’ fur you an’ Miss Robinson,’ ’clared de white man. “‘I’s des fum de Norf, an’ come to fetch you good tidens. By dis time of coase you knows who yo’ frien’s is. You had slav’ry; you’s gut freedum. Dat’s not all, ef de ’Publikins gits in dis time you’s gwine to have some uv dis lan’. Yes, you’s gwine to have forty acres uv lan’ an’ a mule to wuck it wid. You, Tite Robinson, is to have de pic’ uv de lot fur you’s gut so much sense.’ “Dat man sho’ did have a sharp tongue, an’ knowed how to please a nigger. Tite’s eyes git mighty big while he talk ’bout de lan’ an’ de mule. But all de time I wuz lookin’ at dat man an’ de way he dress. He look lak a bad man. Me an’ Tite wuz not use to calls fum white men. No spectable white person prowled ’bout ’mong de niggers lookin’ dat way. But ’t’wuz none uv my bizness to meddle wid him an’ Tite. So I says nuthin’ an’ he goes on wid his putty talk. “After while he say to Tite: ‘Come inside an’ make a light; I’s gut some pitchers to show you an’ Miss Robinson.’ “Dat wuz mos’ too much fur me, but I darsen’ cheep. Tite he goes in an’ lights de torch an’ de man he opens up his police an’ takes out some pitchers. De fust ones had niggers wid chains on, an’ de overseer wid his whup. Indeed, sir, dem pitchers had de po’ darkey in a bad place. De man say dat’s de way it wuz in slav’ry time. Den he fotch out some wid Mr. Nigger dressed up in fine clothes, wid yaller buttons, dis what de nigger laks. Bless me, ef he didn’t have one wid Tite on a big chestnut hoss, ridin’ ’roun’ de farm. It look so much lak de nigger dat I des laugh out loud. An’ Tite he grin all over de face. “‘Dat’s de way Tite’s gwine to look after de ’lection,’ said de man. ‘Dat’s ef de ’Publikins git in.’ “Chile, dat wuz a powful talkin’ man. His tongue go dis lak it wuz loose at both een’s. When he shet up his police, after givin’ Tite some pitchers to put on de mantel boa’d, he take de breff fum me by axin’ ef he kin stay all night. Tite wuz so stuck on him dat he say ‘all right.’ So he stay, but slip out ’fo’ day nex’ mornin’. “Dat talk an’ dem pitchers stir Tite all up. He’s not de same nigger no mo’. De nex’ day he wuz mean to me, ’cause he seed fum de color in my eye dat I lak no sich doin’s, an’ he had some words wid Marse John. ’Deed, sir, he wuz des lak er stubborn mule. Nobudy coul’ do nuthin’ wid him. I tole him dat he’d better quit foolin’ wid po’ white trash, fur you git nuthin’ in dis worl’ ’cepin’ whut you wuck fur. But Tite he wuz done gone ’stracted on de forty acres an’ de mule. He des look at hissef on dat big hoss an’ smile.”