"As for money, take this boy Tom. He actooally transacts his life on the theery that he has prior claims on every splinter of my bank- roll. Jest now he descends onto me an' e'labe'rately states his title to ten pesos. Says he's done j'ined a new church, an' has been made round-up boss or somethin' to a outfit called, 'The Afro- American Widows' Ready Relief Society,' an' that his doos is ten chips. Of course, he has to have the dinero, so I dismisses him for my wallet like I says. "Does them folks change their names? They changes 'em as read'ly as a Injun breaks camp; does it at the drop of the hat. This yere Guinea of mine, his name's Tom. Yet at var'ous times, he informs me of them mootations he's institooted, He's been 'Jim' an' 'Sam' an' 'Willyum Henry,' an' all in two months. Shore, I don't pay no heed to sech vagaries, but goes on callin' him 'Tom,' jest the same. An' he keeps comin' when I calls, too, or I'd shore burn the ground 'round him to a cinder. I'd be a disgrace to old Tennessee to let my boy Tom go preescribin' what I'm to call him. But they be cur'ous folks! The last time this hirelin' changes his name, I asks the reason. "'Tom,' I says, 'this yere is the 'leventh time you cinches on a new name. Now, tell me, why be you-all attemptin' to shift to "Willyum Henry?"' "'Why, Marse,' he says, after thinkin' hard a whole lot, 'I don't know, only my sister gets married ag'in last night, an' I can't think of nothin' else to do, so I sort o' allows I'll change my name.'" A moment later the exuberant and many-titled Tom appeared with the pocket-book. My old friend selected a ten-dollar bill and with an air of severity gave it to his expectant servitor. "Thar you be," he observed. "Now, go pay them doos, an' don't hanker 'round me for money no more for a month. You can't will from me ag'in before Christmas, no matter how often you changes your name, or how many new churches you plays in with. For a nigger, you-all is a mighty sight too vol'tile. Your sperits is too tireless, an' stays too long on the wing. Which, onless you cultivates a placider mood an' studies reepose a whole lot, I'll go foragin' about in my plunder an' search forth a quirt, or mebby some sech stinsin' trifle as a trace-chain, an' warp you into quietood an' peace. I reckons now sech ceremonies would go some ways towards beddin' you down an' inculcatin' lessons of patience a heap." The undaunted Tom listened to his master's gloomy threats with an air of cheer. There was a happy grin on his face as he accepted the money and scraped a "Thanky, sah!" To leave a religious impression which seemed most consistent with the basis of Tom's appeal, that dusky claimant of ten dollars, as he withdrew, hummed softly a camp- meeting song: "Tu'n around an' tu'n yo' face, Untoe them sweet hills o' grace. (D' pow'rs of Sin yo' em scornin'!) Look about an' look aroun', Fling yo' sin-pack on d' groun'. (Yo' will meet wid d' Lord in d' mornin'.)"