"Dis nigger would'nt swop h'r carcas fo'h yourn. Dat she don't,"
Rachel retorts.
"Reckon how ye wouldn't, ah!" Dandy's face fills with indignation.
"Buckra what sting ye back wid de lash 'll buy ye old bag a' bones
fo'h down south; and when 'e get ye down da' he make ye fo'h a corn
grinder." Dandy is somewhat inflated with his rank among the
domestics; he is none of yer common niggers, has never associated
with black, field niggers, which he views as quite too common for
his aristocratic notions, has on his very best looks, his hair
combed with extraordinary care, his shirt collar dangerously
standing above his ears. He feels something better than nigger blood
in his composition, knows the ins and outs of nigger philosophy; he
knows it to be the very best kind of philosophy for a "nigger" to
put on a good appearance at the shambles. A dandy nigger is not
plantation stock,--hence he has "trimmed up," and hopes to find a
purchaser in want of his specific kind of property; it will save him
from that field-life so much dreaded.
The property, in all its varied shades, comes rolling out from all
manner of places in and about the gaol, filling the yard. It is a
momentous occasion, the most momentous of their life-time. And yet
many seem indifferent about its consequences. They speak of the old
plantation, jeer each other about the value of themselves, offer
bets on the price they will bring, assert a superiority over each
other, and boast of belonging to some particular grade of the
property.
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