“Well, ef you done had de speunce un it, I’m mighty glad.  Ef you got ‘lijjun, you better hol’ on to it ‘twel de las’ day in de mornin’.  Hit’s mighty good fer ter kyar’ ‘roun’ wid you in de day time an’ likewise in de night time.  Hit’ll pay you mo’ dan politics, an’ ef you stan’s up like you oughter, hit’ll las’ longer dan a bone-fellum.  But you wanter have one er deze yer ole-time grips, an’ you des gotter shet yo’ eyes an’ swing on like wunner deze yer bull-tarrier dogs.”

“Oh, I’m goin’ to stick, Uncle Remus.  You kin put your money on dat.  Deze town boys can’t play no more uv dere games on me.  I’m fixed.  Can’t you lend me a dime, Uncle Remus, to buy me a pie?  I’m dat hongry dat my stomach is gittin’ ready to go in mo’nin.”

Uncle Remus eyed Charley curiously a moment, while the latter looked quietly at his timber toe.  Finally, the old man sighed and spoke: 

“How long is you bin in de chu’ch, son?”

“Mighty near a week,” replied Charley.

“Well, lemme tell you dis, now, ‘fo’ you go enny fudder.  You ain’t bin in dar long nuff fer ter go ‘roun’ takin’ up conterbutions.  Wait ontwell you gits sorter seasoned like, an’ den I’ll hunt ‘roun’ in my cloze an’ see ef I can’t run out a thrip er two fer you.  But don’t you levy taxes too early.”

Charley laughed, and said he would let the old man off if he would treat to a watermelon.

XVII.  AS TO EDUCATION

As Uncle Remus came up Whitehall Street recently, he met a little colored boy carrying a slate and a number of books.  Some words passed between them, but their exact purport will probably never be known.  They were unpleasant, for the attention of a wandering policeman was called to the matter by hearing the old man bawl out: 

“Don’t you come foolin’ longer me, nigger.  You er flippin’ yo’ sass at de wrong color.  You k’n go roun’ yer an’ sass deze w’ite people, an’ maybe dey’ll stan’ it, but w’en you come a-slingin’ yo’ jaw at a man w’at wuz gray w’en de fahmin’ days gin out, you better go an’ git yo’ hide greased.”

“What’s the matter, old man?” asked a sympathizing policeman.

“Nothin’, boss, ‘ceppin I ain’t gwineter hav’ no nigger chillun a hoopin’ an’ a hollerin’ at me w’en I’m gwine long de streets.”

“Oh, well, school-children—­you know how they are.

“Dat’s w’at make I say w’at I duz.  Dey better be home pickin’ up chips.  W’at a nigger gwineter larn outen books?  I kin take a bar’l stave an’ fling mo’ sense inter a nigger in one minnit dan all de schoolhouses betwixt dis en de State er Midgigin.  Don’t talk, honey!  Wid one bar’l stave I kin fa’rly lif’ de vail er ignunce.”

“Then you don’t believe in education?”

“Hit’s de ruinashun er dis country.  Look at my gal.  De ole ’oman sont ‘er ter school las’ year, an’ now we dassent hardly ax ’er fer ter kyar de washin’ home.  She done got beyant ’er bizness.  I ain’t larnt nuthin’ in books, ’en yit I kin count all de money I gits.  No use talkin’, boss.  Put a spellin’-book in a nigger’s han’s, en right den en dar’ you loozes a plow-hand.  I done had de speunce un it.”