“We went on fum one thing ter an’er, twel bimeby I ax ’im what dey is ’twixt ’im an’ Marse Tumlin an’ Marse Bolivar. Hamp say dey ain’t nothin’ ’ceppin’ dat dey done ax ’im fer ter do sump’n dat ain’t in ’cordance wid erpublican pencerpuls, an’ he bleeze ter effuse um. Well, suh, dis kinder riled me. I know’d right pine-blank dat Hamp ain’t know no mo’ ’bout erpublican pencerpuls dan I is, an’ I wouldn’t a-know’d um ef I’d a met um in de road wid der name painted on um; so I ax ’im what erpublican pencerpuls hender’d ’im fum doin’ what Marse Tumlin ax ’im ter do. He sot dar an’ hummed an’ haw’d, an’ squirm’d in his cheer, an’ chaw’d on de een’ er his segyar. I wait long ’nuff, an’ den I ax ’im ag’in. Well, suh, dat’s been twenty years ago, an’ he ain’t never tol’ me yit what dem erpublican pencerpuls wuz. I ain’t flingin’ off on um, suh. I ’speck dey wuz a bairlful er dem erpublican pencerpuls, an’ maybe all good uns, but I know’d mighty well dat dey ain’t hender dat nigger man fum doin’ what Marse Tumlin ax ’im ter do. “So de nex’ chance I git, I up’n ax Marse Tumlin what de matter wuz ’twix’ him an’ Hamp. He say ’twa’n’t nothin’ much, ’cep’ dat Hamp had done come up here in Atlanta an’ sol’ hisse’f out to a passel er kyarpit-baggers what ain’t no intruss down here but ter git han’s on all de money in sight. I say, ‘He may ’a’ gi’ hisse’f ’way, Marse Tumlin, but he sho’ ain’t sell hisse’f, ’kaze I ain’t seen one er de money.’ Marse Tumlin ’low, ‘Well, anyhow, it don’t make much diffunce, Minervy Ann. Dem kyarpit-baggers up dar, dey pat ’im on de back an’ tell ’im he des ez good ez what dey is. I had de idee, Minervy Ann,’ he say, ‘dat Hamp wuz lots better dan what dey is, but he ain’t; he des ’bout good ez dey is.’ “Marse Tumlin do like he don’t wanter talk ’bout it, but dat ain’t nigh satchify me. I say, ‘Marse Tumlin, what did you want Hamp ter do?’ He drum on de arm er de cheer wid his fingers, an’ sorter study. Den he say, ‘Bein’ it’s all done an’ over wid, I don’t min’ tellin’ you all about it. Does you know who’s a-runnin’ dis county now?’ I had a kinder idee, but I say, ‘Who, Marse Tumlin?’ He ’low, ‘Mahlon Botts an’ his br’er Mose; dey er runnin’ de county, an’ dey er ruinin’ it.’ “Den he ax me ef I know de Bottses. Know um! I’d been a-knowin’ um sence de year one, an’ dey wuz de ve’y drugs an’ offscourin’s er creation. I ax Marse Tumlin how come dey ter have holt er de county, an’ he say dey make out dey wuz good erpublicans, des ter make de niggers vote um in office—so dey kin make money an’ plunder de county. Den I ax ’im what he want Hamp ter do. He say all he want Hamp ter do wuz ter he’p ’im git er whatyoumaycallum—yasser, dat’s it, a bill; dat’s de ve’y word he say—he want Hamp ter he’p ’im git a bill th’oo de Legislatur’; an’ den he went on an’ tell me a long rigamarolious ’bout what ’twuz, but I’ll never tell you in de roun’ worl’.”