Simon and his companions are in ecstasies;
but such cross-grained, such painful jingling of sounds! Its charm
is irresistible with the negro; he mustn't lose a note of the tune;
every creak is exhausted in a break-down dance, which the motion of
the "Jim Crow" car makes more grotesque by every now and then
jolting them into a huddle in one corner.
Mr. M'Fadden has been told that his property are having a lively
time, and thinks he will leave his aristocratic friends, and go to
see it; here he is followed by several young gentlemen, anxious to
enjoy the hilarity of the scene.
"All my property,--right prime, isn't it?" says M'Fadden, exultingly,
nudging one of the young men on the shoulder, as he, returning,
enters the car. The gentleman nods assent, sits down, and coolly
lights his cigar. "Good thing to have a fiddler on a plantation! I'd
rather have it than a preacher; keeps the boys together, and makes
'um a deal better contented," he adds, beginning to exhale the fumes
from his weed.
"Yes!-and ye sees, fellers, how I'ze bought a parson, too. Can do
the thing up brown now, boys, I reckon," remarks the happy
politician, slapping his professional gentleman on the knee, and
laughing right heartily.
Turning to Harry with a firm look, he informs the gentlemen that
"this critter's kind o got the sulks, a'cos Romescos-he hates
Romescos-has bought his wench and young 'uns. Take that out on him,
at my place," he adds.
The dancing continues right merrily.
Pages:
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396