Part 7

“Well, honey, dey ain’t no tellin’ whut Mas’ Jack’s plans was, an’ hit ain’t fu’ me to try an’ guess ’em; but ef he had sont Mas’ Tho’nton erway to brek him off f’om Miss Nellie, he mout ez well ’a’ let him stayed at home; fu’ Jamieson’s Sal whut nussed Miss Nellie tol’ me dat huh mistis got a letter f’om Mas’ Tho’nton evah day er so. An’ when he was home fu’ holidays, you never seed nuffin’ lak it. Hit was jes’ walkin’ er ridin’ er dribin’ wif dat young lady evah day of his life. An’ dey did look so sweet together dat it seemed a shame to pa’t ’em—him wif his big brown eyes an’ sof’ curly hair an’ huh all white an’ gentle lak a little dove. But de ole Mas’ couldn’t see hit dat erway, an’ I knowed dat hit was a-troublin’ him mighty bad. Ez well ez he loved his son, hit allus seemed lak he was glad when de holidays was over an’ de boy was back at college.

“Endurin’ de las’ year dat de young Mastah was to be erway, his pappy seemed lak he was jes’ too happy an’ res’less fu’ anything. He was dat proud of his son, he didn’t know whut to do. He was allus tellin’ visitors dat come to de house erbout him, how he was a ’markable boy an’ was a-gwine to be a honour to his name. An’ when ’long to’ds de ve’y end of de term, a letter come sayin’ dat Mas’ Tho’nton had done tuk some big honour at de college, I jes’ thought sho Mas’ Jack ’u’d plum bus’ hisse’f, he was so proud an’ tickled. I hyeahd him talkin’ to his ole frien’ Cunnel Mandrey an’ mekin’ great plans ’bout whut he gwine to do when his son come home. He gwine tek him trav’lin’ fus’ in Eur’p, so’s to ‘finish him lak a Venable ought to be finished by seein’ somep’n’ of de worl’—’ dem’s his ve’y words. Den he was a-gwine to come home an’ ‘model de house an’ fit it up, ’fu’’—I never shell fu’git how he said it,—‘fu’ I ’spec’ my son to tek a high place in de society of ole Kintucky an’ to mo’ dan surstain de reputation of de Venables.’ Den when de las’ day come an’ young Mastah was home fu’ sho, so fine an’ clever lookin’ wif his new mustache—sich times ez dey was erbout dat house nobidy never seed befo’. All de frien’s an’ neighbours, ’scusin’, o’ co’se, de Jamiesons, was invited to a big dinner dat lasted fu’ hours. Dey was speeches by de gent’men, an’ evahbidy drinked de graderate’s health an’ wished him good luck. But all de time I could see dat Mas’ Tho’nton wasn’t happy, dough he was smilin’ an’ mekin’ merry wif evahbidy. It ’pressed me so dat I spoke erbout hit to Aunt Emmerline. Aunt Emmerline was Mas’ Tho’nton’s mammy, an’ sence he’d growed up, she didn’t do much but he’p erroun’ de house a little.

“‘You don’ mean to tell me dat you noticed dat too?’ says she when I tol’ huh erbout it.

“‘Yes, I did,’ says I, ‘an’ I noticed hit strong.’

“‘Dey’s somep’n’ ain’t gwine right wif my po’ chile,’ she say, ‘an’ dey ain’t no tellin’ whut it is.’

“‘Hain’t you got no idee, Aunt Emmerline?’ I say.

“‘La! chile,’ she say in a way dat mek me think she keepin’ somep’n’ back, ‘la! chile, don’ you know young mans don’ come to dey mammys wif dey secuts lak dey do when dey’s babies? How I gwine to know whut’s pesterin’ Mas’ Tho’nton?’

“Den I knowed she was hidin’ somep’n’, an’ jes’ to let huh know dat I’d been had my eyes open too, I say slow an’ ’pressive lak, ‘Aunt Emmerline, don’ you reckon hit Miss Nellie Jamieson?’ She jumped lak she was skeered, an’ looked at me right ha’d; den she say, ‘I ain’ reck’nin’ nuffin’ ’bout de white folks’ bus’ness.’ An’ she pinched huh mouf up right tight, an’ I couldn’t git another word outen huh; but I knowed dat I’d hit huh jes’ erbout right.

“One mo’nin’ erbout a week after de big dinner, jes’ ez dey was eatin’, Mas’ Tho’nton say, ‘Father, I’d lak to see you in de liberry ez soon ez you has de time. I want to speak to you ’bout somep’n’ ve’y impo’tant.’ De ole man look up right quick an’ sha’p, but he say ve’y quiet lak, ‘Ve’y well, my son, ve’y well; I’s at yo’ service at once.’

“Dey went into de liberry, an’ Mas’ Tho’nton shet de do’ behin’ him. I could hyeah dem talkin’ kin’ o’ low while I was cl’arin’ erway de dishes. After while dey ’menced to talk louder. I had to go out an’ dus’ de hall den near de liberry do’, an’ once I hyeahd ole Mas’ say right sho’t an’ sha’p, ‘Never!’ Den young Mas’ he say, ‘But evah man has de right to choose fu’ his own se’f.’

“‘Man, man!’ I hyeahd his pappy say in a way I had never hyeahd him use to his son befo’, ‘evah male bein’ dat wahs men’s clothes an’ has a mustache ain’t a man.’

“‘Man er whut not,’ po’ young Mastah’s voice was a-tremblin’, ‘I am at leas’ my father’s son an’ I deserve better dan dis at his han’s.’ I hyeahd somebody a-walkin’ de flo’, an’ I was feared dey’d come out an’ think dat I was a-listenin’, so I dus’es on furder down de hall, an’ didn’t hyeah no mo’ ontwell Mas’ Tho’nton come hurryin’ out an’ say, ‘Ike, saddle my hoss.’ He was ez pale ez he could be, an’ when he spoke sho’t an’ rough lak dat, he was so much lak his father dat hit skeered me. Ez soon ez his hoss was ready, he jumped into de saddle an’ went flyin’ outen de ya’d lak mad, never eben lookin’ back at de house. I didn’t see Mas’ Jack fu’ de res’ of de day, an’ he didn’t come in to suppah. But I seed Aunt Emmerline an’ I knowed dat she had been somewhah an’ knowed ez much ez I did erbout whut was gwine on, but I never broached a word erbout hit to huh. I seed she was oneasy, but I kep’ still ’twell she say, ‘Whut you reckon keepin’ Mas’ Tho’nton out so late?’ Den I jes’ say, ‘I ain’t reck’nin’ ’bout de white folks’ bus’ness.’ She looked a little bit cut at fus’, den she jes’ go on lak nuffin’ hadn’t happened: ‘I’s mighty ’sturbed ’bout young Mas’; he never stays erway f’om suppah ’dout sayin’ somep’n’.’

“‘Oh, I reckon he kin fin’ suppah somewhah else.’ I says dis don’t keer lak jes’ fu’ to lead huh on.

“‘I ain’t so much pestered ’bout his suppah,’ she say; ‘I’s feared he gwine do somep’n’ he hadn’t ought to do after dat qua’l ’twixt him an’ his pappy.’

“‘Did dey have a qua’l?’ says I.

“‘G’long!’ Aunt Emmerline say, ‘you wasn’t dus’in’ one place in de hall so long fu’ nuffin’. You knows an’ I knows eben ef we don’t talk a heap. I’s troubled myse’f. Hit jes’ in dat Venable blood to go right straight an’ git Miss Nellie an’ ma’y huh right erway, an’ ef he do it, I p’intly know his pa’ll never fu’give him.’ Den Aunt Emmerline ’mence to cry, an’ I feel right sorry fu’ huh, ’ca’se Mas’ Tho’nton huh boy, an’ she think a mighty heap o’ him.

“Well, we hadn’t had time to say much mo’ when we hyeahd a hoss gallopin’ into de ya’d. Aunt Emmerline jes’ say, ‘Dat’s Gineral’s lope!’ an’ she bus’ outen de do’. I waits, ’spectin’ huh to come back an’ say dat Mas’ Tho’nton done come at las’. But after while she come in wif a mighty long face an’ say, ‘Hit’s one o’ Jamieson’s darkies; he brung de hoss back an’ a note Mas’ gin him fu’ his pappy. Mas’ Tho’nton done gone to Lexin’ton wif Miss Nellie an’ got ma’ied.’ Den she jes’ brek down an’ ’mence a-cryin’ ergin an’ a-rockin’ huhse’f back an’ fofe an’ sayin’, ‘Oh, my po’ chile, my po’ boy, whut’s to ’come o’ you!’

“I went upstairs an’ lef’ huh—we bofe stayed at de big house—but I didn’t sleep much, ’ca’se all thoo de night I could hyeah ole Mas’ a-walkin’ back an’ fofe ercross his flo’, an’ when Aunt Emmerline come up to baid, she mou’ned all night, eben in huh sleep. I tell you, honey, dem was mou’nin’ times.

“Nex’ mo’nin’ when ole Mas’ come down to brekfus’, he looked lak he done had a long spell o’ sickness. But he wasn’t no man to ’spose his feelin’s. He never let on, never eben spoke erbout Mas’ Tho’nton bein’ erway f’om de table. He didn’t eat much, an’ fin’ly I see him look right long an’ stiddy at de place whah Mas’ Tho’nton used to set an’ den git up an’ go ’way f’om de table. I knowed dat he was done filled up. I went to de liberry do’ an’ I could hyeah him sobbin’ lak a chile. I tol’ Aunt Emmerline ’bout it, but she jes’ shuck huh haid an’ didn’t say nuffin’ a’-tall.

“Well, hit went dis erway fu’ ’bout a week. Mas’ Jack was gittin’ paler an’ paler evah day, an’ hit jes’ ’menced to come to my min’ how ole he was. One day Aunt Emmerline say she gwine erway, an’ she mek Jim hitch up de spring wagon an’ she dribe on erway by huhse’f. Co’se, now, Aunt Emmerline she do putty much ez she please, so I don’t think nuffin’ ’bout hit. When she come back, ’long to’ds ebenin’, I say, ‘Aunt Emmerline, whah you been all day?’

“‘Nemmine, honey, you see,’ she say, an’ laff. Well, I ain’t seed nobidy laff fu’ so long dat hit jes’ mek me feel right wa’m erroun’ my hea’t, an’ I laff an’ keep on laffin’ jes’ at nuffin’.

“Nex’ mo’nin’ Aunt Emmerline mighty oneasy, an’ I don’ know whut de matter ontwell I hyeah some un say, ‘Tek dat hoss, Ike, an’ feed him, but keep de saddle on.’ Aunt Emmerline jes’ fa’ly fall out de do’ an’ I lak to drap, ’ca’se hit’s Mas’ Tho’nton’s voice. In a minute he come to me an’ say, ‘Doshy, go tell my father I’d lak to speak to him.’

“I don’ skeercely know how I foun’ my way to de liberry, but I did. Ole Mas’ was a-settin’ dah wif a open book in his han’, but his eyes was jes’ a-starin’ at de wall, an’ I knowed he wasn’t a-readin’. I say, ‘Mas’ Jack,’ an’ he sta’t jes’ lak he rousin’ up, ‘Mas’ Jack, Mas’ Tho’nton want to speak to you.’ He jump up quick, an’ de book fall on de flo’, but he grab a cheer an’ stiddy hisse’f. I done tol’ you Mas’ Jack wasn’t no man to ’spose his feelin’s. He jes’ say, slow lak he hol’in’ hisse’f, ‘Sen’ him in hyeah.’ I goes back an’ ’livers de message, den I flies roun’ to de po’ch whah de liberry winder opens out, ’ca’se, I ain’t gwine lie erbout it, I was mighty tuk up wif all dis gwine on an’ I wanted to see an’ hyeah,—an’ who you reckon ’roun’ dah but Aunt Emmerline! She jes’ say, ‘S-sh!’ ez I come ’roun’, an’ clas’ huh han’s. In a minute er so, de liberry do’ open an’ Mas’ Tho’nton come in. He shet hit behin’ him, an’ den stood lookin’ at his pa, dat ain’t never tu’ned erroun’ yit. Den he say sof’, ‘Father.’ Mas’ Jack tu’ned erroun’ raal slow an’ look at his son fu’ a while. Den he say, ‘Do you still honour me wif dat name?’ Mas’ Tho’nton got red in de face, but he answer, ‘I don’ know no other name to call you.’

“‘Will you set down?’ Mas’ speak jes’ lak he was a-talkin’ to a stranger.

“‘Ef you desiah me to.’ I see Mas’ Tho’nton was a-bridlin’ up too. Mas’ jes’ th’owed back his haid an’ say, ‘Fa’ be it f’om any Venable to fu’git cou’tesy to his gues’.’ Young Mas’ moved erway f’om de cheer whah he was a-gwine to set, an’ his haid went up. He spoke up slow an’ delibut, jes’ lak his pa, ‘I do not come, suh, in dat cha’acter, I is hyeah ez yo’ son.’

“Well, ole Mas’ eyes fa’ly snapped fiah. He was white ez a sheet, but he still spoke slow an’ quiet, hit made me creep, ‘You air late in ’memberin’ yo’ relationship, suh.’

“‘I hab never fu’got it.’

“‘Den, suh, you have thought mo’ of yo’ rights dan of yo’ duties.’ Mas’ Jack was mad an’ so was Mas’ Tho’nton; he say, ‘I didn’t come hyeah to ’scuss dat.’ An’ he tu’ned to’ds de do’. I hyeah Aunt Emmerline groan jes’ ez Mas’ say, ‘Well, whut did you come fu’?’

“‘To be insulted in my father’s house by my father, an’ I’s got all dat I come fu’!’ Mas’ Tho’nton was ez white ez his pa now, an’ his han’ was on de do’-knob. Den all of a sudden I hyeah de winder go up, an’ I lak to fall over gittin’ outen de way to keep f’om bein’ seed. Aunt Emmerline done opened de winder an’ gone in. Dey bofe tu’ned an’ looked at huh s’prised lak, an’ Mas’ Jack sta’ted to say somep’n’, but she th’owed up huh han’ an’ say ‘Wait!’ lak she owned de house. ‘Mas’ Jack,’ she say, ‘you an’ Mas’ Tho’nton ain’t gwine pa’t dis way. You mus’n’t. You’s father an’ son. You loves one another. I knows I ain’t got no bus’ness meddlin’ in yo’ ’fairs, but I cain’t see you all qua’l dis way. Mastah, you’s bofe stiffnecked. You’s bofe wrong. I know Mas’ Tho’nton didn’t min’ you, but he didn’t mean no ha’m—he couldn’t he’p it—it was in de Venable blood, an’ you mus’n’t ’spise him fu’ it.’

“‘Emmerline’—ole Mas’ tried to git in a word, but she wouldn’t let him.

“‘Yes, Mastah, yes, but I nussed dat boy an’ tuk keer o’ him when he was a little bit of a he’pless thing; an’ when his po’ mammy went to glory, I ’member how she look up at me wif dem blessed eyes o’ hern an’ lay him in my arms an’ say, “Emmerline, tek keer o’ my baby.” I’s done it, Mastah, I’s done it de bes’ I could. I’s nussed him thoo sickness when hit seemed lak his little soul mus’ foller his mother anyhow, but I’s seen de look in yo’ eyes, an’ prayed to God to gin de chile back to you. He done it, he done it, an’ you sha’n’t th’ow erway de gif’ of God!’ Aunt Emmerline was a-cryin’ an’ so was Mas’ Tho’nton. Ole Mas’ mighty red, but he clared his th’oat an’ said wif his voice tremblin’, ‘Emmerline, leave de room.’ De ole ooman come out a-cryin’ lak huh hea’t ’u’d brek, an’ jes’ ez de do’ shet behin’ huh, ole Mas’ brek down an’ hol’ out his arms, cryin’, ‘My son, my son.’ An’ in a minute he an’ Mas’ Tho’nton was a-hol’in’ one another lak dey’d never let go, an’ his pa was a-pattin’ de boy’s haid lak he was a baby. All of a sudden ole Mas’ hel’ him off an’ looked at him an’ say, ‘Dat ole fool talkin’ to me erbout yo’ mother’s eyes, an’ you stannin’ hyeah a-lookin’ at me wif ’em.’ An’ den he was a-cryin’ ergin, an’ dey was bofe huggin’.

“Well, after while dey got all settled down, an’ Mas’ Tho’nton tol’ his pa how Aunt Emmerline drib to Lexin’ton an’ foun’ him an’ made him come home. ‘I was wrong, father,’ he say, ‘but I reckon ef it hadn’t ’a’ been fu’ Aunt Emmerline, I would ’a’ stuck it out.’

“‘It was in de Venable blood,’ his pa say, an’ dey bofe laff. Den ole Mas’ say, kin’ o’ lak it hu’t him, ‘An’ whah’s yo’ wife?’ Young Mas’ got mighty red ergin ez he answer, ‘She ain’t fu’ erway.’

“‘Go bring huh,’ Mas’ Jack say.

“Well, I reckon Mas’ Tho’nton lak to flew, an’ he had Miss Nellie dah in little er no time. When dey come, Mas’ he say, ‘Come hyeah,’ den he pause awhile—‘my daughter.’ Den Miss Nellie run to him, an’ dey was another cryin’ time, an’ I went on to my work an’ lef’ ’em talkin’ an’ laffin’ an’ cryin’.

“Well, Aunt Emmerline was skeered to def. She jes’ p’intly knowed dat she was gwine to git a tongue-lashin’. I don’ know whether she was mos’ skeered er mos’ happy. Mas’ sont fu’ huh after while, an’ I listened when she went in. He was tryin’ to talk an’ look pow’ful stern, but I seed a twinkle in his eye. He say, ‘I want you to know, Emmerline, dat hit ain’t yo’ place to dictate to yo’ mastah whut he shell do—Shet up, shet up! I don’ want a word outen you. You been on dis place so long, an’ been bossin’ de other darkies an’ yo’ Mas’ Tho’nton erroun’ so long, dat I ’low you think you own de place. Shet up, not a word outen you! Ef you an’ yo’ young Mas’ ’s a-gwine to run dis place, I reckon I’d better step out. Humph! You was so sma’t to go to Lexin’ton de other day, you kin go back dah ergin. You seem to think you’s white, an’ hyeah’s de money to buy a new dress fu’ de ole fool darky dat nussed yo’ son an’ made you fu’give his foo’ishness when you wanted to be a fool yo’se’f.’ His voice was sof’ ergin, an’ he put de money in Aunt Emmerline’s han’ an’ pushed huh out de do’, huh a-cryin’ an’ him put’ nigh it.

“After dis, Mas’ Jack was jes’ bent an’ boun’ dat de young people mus’ go on a weddin’ trip. So dey got ready, an’ Miss Nellie went an’ tol’ huh pa goo’bye. Min’ you, dey hadn’t been nuffin’ said ’bout him an’ Mas’ not bein’ frien’s. He done fu’give Miss Nellie right erway fu’ runnin’ off. But de mo’nin’ dey went erway, we all was out in de ya’d, an’ Aunt Emmerline settin’ on de seat wif Jim, lookin’ ez proud ez you please. Mastah was ez happy ez a boy. ‘Emmerline,’ he hollahs ez dey drib off, ‘tek good keer o’ dat Venable blood.’ De ca’iage stopped ez it went out de gate, an’ Mas’ Tom Jamieson kissed his daughter. He had rid up de road to see de las’ of huh. Mastah seed him, an’ all of a sudden somep’n’ seemed to tek holt o’ him an’ he hollahed, ‘Come in, Tom.’

“‘Don’ keer ef I do,’ Mas’ Jamieson say, a-tu’nin’ his hoss in de gate. ‘You Venables has got de res’ o’ my fambly.’ We all was mos’ s’prised to def.

“Mas’ Jamieson jumped offen his hoss, an’ Mas’ Venable come down de steps to meet him. Dey shuk han’s, an’ Mas’ Jack say, ‘Dey ain’t no fool lak a ole fool.’

“‘An’ fu’ unekaled foo’ishness,’ Mas’ Tom say, ‘reckermen’ me to two ole fools.’ Dey went into de house a-laffin’, an’ I knowed hit was all right ’twixt ’em, fu’ putty soon I seed Ike out in de ya’d a-getherin’ mint.”

AUNT MANDY’S INVESTMENT

AUNT MANDY’S INVESTMENT

The Coloured American Investment Company was organised for the encouragement and benefit of the struggling among Americans of African descent; at least, so its constitution said. Though truth was, Mr. Solomon Ruggles, the efficient president and treasurer of the institution, usually represented the struggling when there were any benefits to receive.

Indeed, Mr. Ruggles was the Coloured American Investment Company. The people whom he persuaded to put their money into his concern were only accessories. Though a man of slight education, he was possessed of a liberal amount of that shrewd wit which allows its possessor to feed upon the credulity of others.

Mr. Ruggles’s motto was “It is better to be plausible than right,” and he lived up to his principles with a fidelity that would have been commendable in a better cause. He was seldom right, but he was always plausible. No one knew better than he how to bring out the good point of a bad article. He would have sold you a blind horse and convinced you that he was doing you a favour in giving you an animal that would not be frightened by anything he saw. No one but he could have been in a city so short a time and yet gained to such an extent the confidence and cash of the people about him.

When a coloured man wishes to start a stock company, he issues a call and holds a mass meeting. This is what Solomon Ruggles did. A good many came. Some spoke for and some against the movement, but the promoter’s plausible argument carried the day.

“Gent’men,” he said, “my fellow colo’ed brotheren, I jest want to say this to you, that we Af’-Americans been ca’yin’ a leaky bucket to the well too long. We git the stream from the ground, an’ back to the ground it goes befoah we kin git any chance to make use o’ what we’ve drawed. But, not to speak in meterphers, this is what I mean. I mean that we work for the white folks for their money. All they keer about us is ouah work, an’ all we keer about them is their money; but what do we do with it when we git it? I’ll tell you what we do with it; we take an’ give it right back to the white folks fu’ somef’n’ or other we want, an’ so they git ouah labour, an’ ouah money too. Ain’t that the truth?”

There were cries of “Yes, indeed, that’s so; you’re right, sho!”

“Well, now, do you want this hyeah thing to go on?”

“No!” from a good many voices.

“Then how are we going to stop it?” Mr. Ruggles paused. No one answered. “Why,” he resumed, “by buyin’ from ourselves, that’s how. We all put in so much ev’ry week till we git enough to buy things of ouah own; then we’ll jest pat’onise ouahselves. Don’t you see it can’t fail?”

The audience did.

Brother Jeremiah Buford rose and “hea’tily concuhed in what the brothah had said;” and dapper little Spriggins, who was said to be studying law, and to be altogether as smart as a whip, expressed his pleasure that a man of such enterprise had come among them to wake the coloured people up to a sense of their condition and to show them a way out of it. So the idea which had been formulated in the fecund brain of Solomon Ruggles became a living, active reality. His project once on foot, it was easy enough to get himself elected president and treasurer. This was quite little enough to do for a man whose bright idea might make them all rich, so thought the stockholders or prospective stockholders who attended the meeting, and some who came to scoff remained to pay. It was thus that the famous Coloured Improvement Company sprang into life.