United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
"I'm workin' this job for all there is into it, let me tell you,"
replied Bud, taking his wife's pipe from her hand and filling it for his
own benefit. "I ketched old preacher Toby with a babolition paper in his
hand, an' that's the way I come to get the grub an' tobacker. To-morrer
I'll go an' call on the storekeeper. He told me t'other day that he
wouldn't trust me no more, but I kinder think he'll change his mind when
I tell him that I'm onto that committee. An' then there's that Meth'dist
preacher, Elder Bowen, who I suspicion gin Toby that babolition
_Trybune._ There's a heap of hams an' side-meat in that smokehouse of
his'n, an' it sorter runs in my mind that I can talk him into givin' me
some of it."
"An' did you speak to Toby about the money they say he's got hid
somewheres?" asked Mrs. Goble, who was dressing two of the chickens
preparatory to consigning them to the kettle, which she had placed upon
the coals. "What business has he got to have money when white folks--"
"Set me down for a fuel!" exclaimed Bud, hitting his rheumatic leg such
a slap that he could hardly repress the howl of anguish that arose to
his lips. "There I was talkin' to him for as much as ten or fifteen
minutes an' never onct thought of that money. Well, there's another day
comin', an' Toby'll have to hand that money over or get whopped."
"An' if I was you," continued his wife, "I wouldn't say a blessed word
to nobody about it. Keep your business to yourself, kase if you don't,
them that helps you will want to share in what you get."
"Susie, you've got a long head an' that's a fac'," said Bud, who
wondered why he had not thought of all these little things himself.
"I'll bear them idees in mind. Now, punch up the fire a little an' let
me see if I can read what's into this letter. One of the most prominent
an' respected citizens of Barrington; that's what I be, an' the feller
who writ to me knows it."
Having lighted his pipe and waited until the blaze from the fire had
attained sufficient brightness, Bud drew the letter from his pocket and
read aloud:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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