“A mighty big w’atsizname,” answered Uncle Remus, cautiously.  “I wuzzent up dar close to whar Miss Sarah wuz a readin’, but I kinder geddered in dat it wuz one er deze ’ere w’atzisnames w’at you hollers inter one year an it comes out er de udder.  Hit’s mighty funny unter me how dese fokes kin go an’ prognosticate der eckoes inter one er deze yer i’on boxes, an’ dar hit’ll stay on twel de man comes long an’ tu’ns de handle an’ let’s de fuss come pilin’ out.  Bimeby dey’ll git ter makin’ sho’ nuff fokes, an’ den dere’ll be a racket ‘roun’ here.  Dey tells me dat it goes off like one er deze yer torpedoes.”

“You year dat, don’t you?” said one or two of the younger negroes.

“Dat’s w’at dey tells me,” continued Uncle Remus.  “Dat’s w’at dey sez.  Hit’s one er deze yer kinder w’atzisnames w’at sasses back w’en you hollers at it.”

“W’at dey fix um fer, den?” asked one of the practical negroes.

“Dat’s w’at I wanter know,” said Uncle Remus, contemplatively.  “But dat’s w’at Miss Sally wuz a readin’ in de paper.  All you gotter do is ter holler at de box, an’ dar’s yo’ remarks.  Dey goes in, an’ dar dey er tooken and dar dey hangs on twel you shakes de box, an’ den dey draps out des ez fresh ez deze yer fishes w’at you git fum Savannah, an’ you ain’t got time fer ter look at dere gills, nudder.”

VIII.  RACE IMPROVEMENT

“Dere’s a kind er limberness ’bout niggers dese days dat’s mighty cu’us,” remarked Uncle Remus yesterday, as he deposited a pitcher of fresh water upon the exchange table.  “I notisses it in de alley-ways an on de street-cornders.  Dey er rackin’ up, mon, deze yer cullud fokes is.”

“What are you trying to give us now?” inquired one of the young men, in a bilious tone.

“The old man’s mind is wandering,” said the society editor, smoothing the wrinkles out of his lavender kids.

Uncle Remus laughed.  I speck I is a gittin’ mo frailer dan I wuz ‘fo’ de fahmin days wuz over, but I sees wid my eyes an’ I years wid my year, same ez enny er dese yer young bucks w’at goes a gallopin’ roun’ huntin’ up devilment, an’ w’en I sees de limberness er dese yer cullud people, an’ w’en I sees how dey er dancin’ up, den I gits sorter hopeful.  Dey er kinder ketchin’ up wid me.”

“How is that?”

“Oh, dey er movin’,” responded Uncle Remus.  “Dey er sorter comin’ ‘roun’.  Dey er gittin’ so dey bleeve dat dey ain’t no better dan de w’ite fokes.  W’en freedom come out de niggers sorter got dere humps up, an’ dey staid dat way, twel bimeby dey begun fer ter git hongry, an’ den dey begun fer ter drap inter line right smartually; an’ now,” continued the old man, emphatically, “dey er des ez palaverous ez dey wuz befo’ de war.  Dey er gittin’ on solid groun’, mon.”

“You think they are improving, then?”