Lance turned and stared.  How much did the words mean to the old woman?  In a moment he knew.

“Yas, my young marseter, dis yer America’s de ole black ’oman’s country, thes like it’s fine young white man’s, like you, sir.  I gwine give my las’ cent, like you say.  Yas, I gwine do dat.  I got two hun’erd dollars, sir; I b’en a-savin’ and a-savin’ for Jeems ’n me ’ginst when we git ole, but I gwine give dat to my country.  I want Unc’ Sam to buy good food for dem boys in the muddy water.  Bacon ’n hominy, sir—­’n corn bread, what’s nourishin’.  ’N I want you to git de—­de Liberty what-je-call-’ems.  Yassir.  ’Caze you ain’t got no ma to he’ep you out, ’n de ole black ‘oman’s gwine to be de bes’ ma she know how to her young marse.  I got de money tied up—­” she leaned forward and whispered—­“in a stockin’ in de bottom draw’ ob de chist unner Jeem’s good coat.  Tomorrow I gwine fetch it, ‘n you go buy yo’ what-je-calls-’ems.”

Lance went across and knelt on the floor beside her and put his arms around the stout figure.  He had been brought up with a colored mammy and this affection seemed natural and homelike.  “Aunt Basha, you’re one of the saints,” he said.  “And I love you for it.  But I wouldn’t take your blessed two hundred, not for anything on earth.  I’d be a hound to take it.  If you want some bonds”—­it flashed to him that the money would be safer so than in the stocking under Jeem’s coat—­“why, I’ll get them for you.  Come into the Daybreak office and ask for me, say—­Monday.  And I’ll go with you to the bank and get bonds.  Here’s my card.  Show anybody that at the office.”  And he gave directions.

Five minutes later the old woman went off down the street talking half aloud to herself in fragments of sentences about “Liberty what-je-call-’ems” and “my country too.”  In the little shack uptown that was home for her and her husband she began at once to set forth her new light.  Jeems, who added to the family income by taking care of furnaces and doing odd jobs, was grizzled and hobbling of body, but argumentative of soul.

“‘Oman,” he addressed Aunt Basha, “Unc’ Sam got lots o’ money.  What use he gwine have, great big rich man lak Unc’ Sam, fo’ yo’ two hun’erd?  But we got mighty lot o’ use fo’ dat money, we’uns.  An’ you gwine gib dat away?  Thes lak a ’oman!” which, in other forms, is an argument used by male people of many classes.

Aunt Basha suggested that Young Marse David said something about a piece of paper and Uncle Sam paying back, but Jeems pooh-poohed that.

“Naw, sir.  When big rich folks goes round collectin’ po’ folkses money, is dey liable to pay back?  What good piece o’ paper gwine do you?  Is dey aimin’ to let you see de color ob dat money agin?  Naw, sir.  Dey am not.”  He proceeded to another branch of the subject.  “War ain’ gwine las’ long, nohow.  Young Ananias he gwine to Franch right soon, an’ de yether colored brothers.  De Germans dey ain’t gwine las’ long, once ef dey see us Anglo-Saxons in de scrablin’.  Naw, sir.