“So Solomon say all right, en tuk de goopher mixtry up ter de big house en gun it ter de cook, en tol’ her fer ter put it in Mars Jeems’s soup de fus’ cloudy day she hab okra soup fer dinnah.  It happen’ dat de ve’y nex’ day wuz a cloudy day, en so de cook made okra soup fer Mars Jeems’s dinnah, en put de powder Solomon gun her inter de soup, en made de soup rale good, so Mars Jeems eat a whole lot of it en ’peared ter enjoy it.

“De nex’ mawnin’ Mars Jeems tol’ de oberseah he wuz gwine ’way on some bizness, en den he wuz gwine ter his yuther plantation, down in Robeson County, en he did n’ ‘spec’ he ‘d be back fer a mont’ er so.

“But,’ sezee, ’I wants you ter run dis yer plantation fer all it’s wuth.  Dese yer niggers is gittin’ monst’us triflin’ en lazy en keerless, en dey ain’ no ’pen’ence ter be put in ’em.  I wants dat stop’, en w’iles I ’m gone erway I wants de ’spenses cut ‘way down en a heap mo’ wuk done.  Fac’, I wants dis yer plantation ter make a reco’d dat’ll show w’at kinder oberseah you is.’

“Ole Nick did n’ said nuffin but ‘Yas, suh,’ but de way he kinder grin’ ter hisse’f en show’ his big yaller teef, en snap’ de rawhide he useter kyar roun’ wid ‘im, made col’ chills run up and down de backbone er dem niggers w’at heared Mars Jeems a-talkin’.  En dat night dey wuz mo’nin’ en groanin’ down in de qua’ters, fer de niggers all knowed w’at wuz comin’.

“So, sho’ ‘nuff, Mars Jeems went erway nex’ mawnin’, en de trouble begun.  Mars Johnson sta’ted off de ve’y fus’ day fer ter see w’at he could hab ter show Mars Jeems w’en he come back.  He made de tasks bigger en de rashuns littler, en w’en de niggers had wukked all day, he ‘d fin’ sump’n fer ’em ter do roun’ de ba’n er som’ers atter da’k, fer ter keep ‘em busy a’ hour er so befo’ dey went ter sleep.

“About th’ee er fo’ days atter Mars Jeems went erway, young Mars Dunkin McSwayne rode up ter de big house one day wid a nigger settin’ behin’ ‘im in de buggy, tied ter de seat, en ax’ ef Mars Jeems wuz home.  Mars Johnson wuz at de house, and he say no.

“‘Well,’ sez Mars Dunkin, sezee, ’I fotch dis nigger ober ter Mistah McLean fer ter pay a bet I made wid ‘im las’ week w’en we wuz playin’ kya’ds te’gedder.  I bet ’im a nigger man, en heah ’s one I reckon’ll fill de bill.  He wuz tuk up de yuther day fer a stray nigger, en he could n’ gib no ‘count er hisse’f, en so he wuz sol’ at oction, en I bought ‘im.  He’s kinder brash, but I knows yo’ powers, Mistah Johnson, en I reckon ef anybody kin make ‘im toe de ma’k, you is de man.’

“Mars Johnson grin’ one er dem grins w’at show’ all his snaggle teef, en make de niggers ’low he look lack de ole debbil, en sezee ter Mars Dunkin:—­

“‘I reckon you kin trus’ me, Mistah Dunkin, fer ter tame any nigger wuz eber bawn.  De nigger doan lib w’at I can’t take down in ‘bout fo’ days.’

“Well, Ole Nick had ’is han’s full long er dat noo nigger; en w’iles de res’ er de darkies wuz sorry fer de po’ man, dey ‘lowed he kep’ Mars Johnson so busy dat dey got along better ’n dey ’d ‘a’ done ef de noo nigger had nebber come.