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32101 074760685


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PRI N C ETO N
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY














“Seated in a big arm-chair, Sandy Jenkins read
ps
his poetry. (See page 41.)


*BIAR is
* CAT A ºft.
Yº quamesD.
i,j |CORROTHERS
s
92111u strated
&J-KBRYANS 9
FUNK & WAGNALLS
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NEW YORK
LONDON
1 s O 2


Copyright, 1902, by
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY.
Registered at Stationers' Hall,
London.
Printed in the United States of
America.
Published March, 1902.


*
a 32
|
N-
| |
9 5 19
0 1 0 0 1 / 2% Øontents
chapter
I.
II.
III.
IV.
V.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
. SANDY VISITs TERRE HAUTE,
PREFACE, - - - -
THE CLUB INTRODUCED,
2’ S.
..",
ABOUT BLACK CATS,
SoME LETTERS AND A HOME,
DE EDDICATED CULLUD MAN,
BEI DER NORT SEIT OUDT,
“Ghosts, WITCHES, AND HooDoos,”
LovE AND HUMOR MIXED,
APPLYING THE CHICAGO GOLDEN
RULE,
TALES OF SLAvery DAYS,
“NEAR To NATURE's HEART,”
THE GREAT DEBATE,
RECONCILIATIONs, REFLECTIONs, RE-
MEMBRANCES,
“GooD EATIN’s,”
AT THE CHURCH,
I I
27
4 I
54
65
78
98
. Io9
. I23
• I 43
. 16o
. 177
... I O2
. 2 II
iii





Full=Page Tllustrations
“Seated in a big arm-chair, Sandy Jenkins
read his poetry,” - Arontispiece
“Doc,” - - - - - -
“The Club met in Billy Spooks's rear
room,” . - - - - -
“De man retch up an’ pulled his head
off an’ han's it to me,” -
“De lady goes to a mahogany writin'-desk
an’ dashes off dis note,”
“Slippery Simon,” . - -
“Jones rushed at Slippery Simon,”
The Black Cat Quartet,
PAGE
I3
28
83
. Io9
. 127
. I99
, 247





PREFACE
THIs book is intended as a series of char-
acter studies of Negro life as it may be ob-
served in the great cities of the North. The
scene has been laid in Chicago because there
—more than anywhere else in the North—
may be found every type of the American
Negro and nearly every phase of his social
life. For the Negro is himself everywhere,
whether educated or uneducated.
Believing that the world needs smiles in-
stead of tears, it has been my desire to pre-
sent the humorous side of Negro life, as I
have observed it. I have endeavored, from a
humorist's point of view, to paint the Negro
as he is. I have neither apologized for his
shortcomings nor exaggerated them. I have
tried, as it were, to make a window into
7


Preface
Negro life so that the reader may see and
hear for himself. Many quaint Negro ex-
pressions, droll sayings, and peculiar by-
words, used by Negroes universally, have, to
the best of my ability, been set down at just
such times and places as a Negro would nat-
urally make use of them. Some of the
stories used are old Negro folk-lore tales
which I heard from my grandfather, uncles,
and others. Nearly every Negro knows them
in some form or other. They have been told
around Negro cabin-fires for hundreds of
years; but, so far as I know, have never be-
fore appeared in print. Believing them
worthy of preservation, I have endeavored to
retell them faithfully through the medium of
the “Black Cat Club,” a setting which, I
hope, will give the reader a clearer insight
into certain phases of Negro life and charac-
ter, not only as they appeared on Southern
plantations in ante-bellum times, but as they
may be observed under certain conditions
8


Preface
to-day. Connecting with these folk-lore
tales a few thoughts which are my own,
I send them forth in the earnest hope that,
where'er they may go, they will bring sun-
shine and good-cheer, and, offending nobody,
win friends and well-wishers for themselves.
It is proper to explain that, since in Chi-
cago are Negroes from all portions of the
South, the dialect spoken in the “Black Cat
Club” naturally embraces and commingles
nearly all of the Negro dialects in Dixieland.
Beginning at the third chapter of the book,
a love-story winds through the work, culmi-
nating at the close.
One of the poems used in the work has
appeared in the Century Magazine; two
others have appeared in Truth. To the man-
agement of both magazines grateful acknowl-
edgment is made.
THE AUTHOR.


ſº
|
A.
THE BLACK CAT CLUB
CHAPTER I
Che Ølub Tintroduced
SANDY JENKINS, alias “Doc,” president of
the “Black Cat Club’’’ and poet-laureate of
the Chicago levee, strolled contentedly along
Clark Street one sunny afternoon—the proud-
est and happiest mortal in the universe.
Sandy was “dressed to kill": His linen
was spotless; his clothing faultless; his
cane, chrysanthemum, diamonds, and “patent
leathers” matchless; while his “Jockey
Club” perfume proclaimed his presence quite
as much as they. Sandy was satisfied.

I I


CI)6. Black (Zat Ølub
Under one arm he carried an immense black
cat with which to “hoodoo” his enemies,
while in his inside coat pocket reposed se-
curely his precious rabbit's foot, together
with the manuscript of his famous poem,
“De Cahvin’” — an effusion which never
failed to delight his Negro constituents of
the levee, whenever the poet condescended
to read it to them.
But Sandy had still other reasons to be
proud.
It had been indeed a great day for him.
He had perfected the organization of the
“Black Cat Literary Club” on the night be-
fore, and the morning papers had all pub-
lished glowing accounts of the affair, in
which Sandy came in for the lion's share
of the glory. Five morning papers had
each devoted a column of space to an elabo-
rate description of the club, and Sandy's
name had appeared with amazing frequency
in each report. The thought of it overcame
I 2



13


Che Black (Zat Ølub
the poet, and he repaired to the nearest
saloon and called for “whisky straight.”
“You black people bin raisin' san' wid
yo' Shakespeare ack!” observed “Billy"
Spooks, the bartender, pouring out Sandy's
drinks, as a number of the great man's ad-
mirers filed into the place. “See whut de
papahs said 'bout you dis mo'nin', Doc?”
“Nevah pays no 'tention to sich small
mattahs,” answered Sandy; “might, ef I wuz
raised pickin' cotton in de backwoods down
South, lak you. I'se a genamun, mase'f.”
“You'll be gen’ler 'n' dat 'fo' I gits th’u’
wid you,” replied the bartender with a laugh.
Sandy drew his razor.
“Come on wid yo' cutlery; but foh de
Laud sake hol' dat cat!” exclaimed Spooks,
with feigned excitement. “I thought you
could take a joke /"
“G'way!” said Sandy hotly; “I 'member
when you rid into town on a hay-wagon, too
hongry to cas' a shadder, an' struck me fur
I4


CI)6 (2Italy Tintroduced
two bits to git yo'se'ſ somethin' t'eat wid!
Don't tell me / Knowed you when de mice
built nests in yo' wool!”
“Doan' let me down so hahd, Doc,” said
Spooks, with a laugh. Then he prepared the
drinks, and, while the crowd was enjoying
the treat, picked up a morning paper that lay
behind the counter, and read the following,
punctuating his monologue with an occa-
sional laugh and witticism:
DE BLAck cat club
ALL SORTS OF WEIRD NOTIONS HAUNT
ITS MEMBERS
Sandy Jenkins, Poet-Laureate of the Levee,
Writes Stirring Epics which have Made Him
Famous “Down de Line,” and Gained Him
the Presidency of the New Society.
“Sandy Jenkins, the colored poet-laureate
of the levee, and his friends have organized
a literary society which will henceforth be
known to fame as the ‘Black Cat Club.'
I5


Che Black 2at Ølub
“The club is the most peculiar literary
society on earth. It is founded on a pre-
tended belief in the old Negro superstition
that black cats are the children of his Sa-
tanic majesty, and that all kinds of bad luck
await the unfortunate individual whose luck
is crossed by one of these sable disturbers of
the midnight peace. Nothing but the pos-
session of a rabbit's foot and a silver spoon
can thwart the power of the black cat's hoo-
doo. These things the learned Sandy pos-
sesses. Moreover he has captured a big
black cat with which to hoodoo a dozen lit-
erary rivals who have dared to evidence their
existence since Jenkins leaped into popularity
as the author of his pathetic poem, ‘De Cah-
vin.” Sandy's friends have taken up the
spirit of the fun, and the ‘Black Cat Club'
is the result.
“There are but nine members in the club
—one for each of the cat's alleged nine lives.
New members are never taken in—old ones
16


Che ſºlub Tintroduced
are not allowed to withdraw. College gradu-
ates are not eligible to membership, and no
member is allowed to become too familiar
with the classics or to speak disrespectfully
of Jenkins' black cat. In fact, the club
members are expected to learn all they can
concerning cats, witches, ghosts, quaint Ne-
gro sayings and plantation stories and melo-
dies, and to impart them in an original man-
ner at the meetings of the club. Swell
banquets will be given at all meetings of the
society, where watermelons, 'possum, sweeten
'tatahs, pie, co’npone, po’k chops, chicken,
and intoxicating liquors will be very much
in evidence. This is one of the main objects
of the organization.
“The club has, as yet, no regular head-
quarters. It was organized in a levee sa-
loon, and thus far its meetings
have been held in the private $
rooms of its members.
“All the members of the club


2 17


Che Black Qat Ølub
are well-known characters about the levee,
but in the club assumed names are adopted.
None but the imperial Jenkins himself is al-
lowed to retain his usual cognomen. Henry
Harris is the club's chaplain. In the club he
is known as the ‘Rev. Dark Loudmouth.’ He
opens up the meetings with a prayer to the
black cat. The club has no secretary. It
doesn't need any, so its members say; but ‘K.
C. Brighteyes' looks after its funds. Jenkins
is both its president and poet-laureate. The
club has no critic. It couldn't stand one.
‘Bad Bob Sampson' is its sergeant-at-arms.
Other members of the society are: ‘Johnny
Yellowshort,' ‘Saskatchewan Jones,’ ‘Prof.
Lightfoot Johnsing,’ ‘Roustabout Thomp-
son,’ and ‘Slippery Simon.’ The club has
no honorary members; but, by virtue of its
constitution, it is allowed to have 999. Con-
trary to general usage, however, these mem-
bers will not be chosen because of their bril-
liancy or the honor they are expected to
18


Che Ølub Tntroduced
reflect upon the club; nor will they be called
honorary members at all. They will be de-
nominated “onry members,' and will be
chosen because they are considered too
‘onry' to belong to the club—”
“Dat's whah you comes in, Billy,” inter-
rupted Sandy. And amid the laugh that fol-
lowed, “Billy” good-naturedly treated the
crowd. Then he continued his reading:
“The club meets every Friday night, and
none but members are admitted to its rooms.
Upon the walls of the club, ornamented by a
skull and crossbones, will hang a coffin-
shaped motto:
“Death to eavesdroppers, policemen, and re-
porters.
By order of MESMERIZER and the CLUB.’
“The club does not believe in woman's
rights, and none of its members are allowed
to marry.
“One of its most unique and laughable

I9


Che Black (Zat Ølub
among the belles of colored swelldom. He
is a musician as well as a poet. He plays a
half-dozen instruments, and has a silvery
tenor voice that makes him good company al-
most anywhere. He is pledged to furnish an
original poem at every meeting of the club,
among the members of which and around the
levee generally he is lionized, and is consid-
ered the peer of Burns, Milton, Shakespere,
, and Tennyson, and, in levee vernacular, of
“any literary monkey dat evah push' a pen!’”
“Doc,” was Billy Spooks' comment, “you
sho' has got yo'se'f a record Tetch ma
tº flesh!” he added, grasping Sandy's hand.
“Doc,” exclaimed Saskatchewan Jones,
“de repo'tah dat written dat wuz smaht, foh
true! Here! I'm got a dollah—evahbody
hab a drink—ain't nothin' small 'bout me!
Here’s to de kid l’’
“He’s a bo'n genamun whut ought to be
dead drunk dis minute,” said Sandy, gulping
down his liquor.

22


Che ſºlub Tintroduced
“Ought to ketch him, Sandy, an' cahve yo'
monograph in him, so'you'd know him when
you need him 'g'in,” suggested Billy Spooks;
“’tain't evahbody splashes ink lak dat. He
cain't tetch you, tho’, Doc, 'ca'se you's done
got Shakespere hangin' ovah de ropes! Read
dat piece o' yo's once mo'an' let me die a-lis-
tenin’ to it!”
Then the room grew still, and a look of
happy expectancy lighted up the faces of the
crowd as the learned man drew out his manu-
script, and, with a grandiloquent sweep of
the hand, began:
“Jim Johnson lubbed a yallah girl
Until his brain began to whirl;
But Sambo Brown he lubbed huh, too,
An’ out o' dat a quarrel grew.
So Jimmy Johnson comes to town
A-purpose to cahve Sambo Brown.
Along about de hour ob noon,
He fines him down in Smiff's saloon;
"Fo' Sambo knowed whut he wuz 'bout,
Jim Johnson drawed him razah out,
23


Che Black ſºat Ølub
An' cut him all around de face—
All up de back, an' evah place!
He cut him low, he cut him high—
Cleah fºom his ankle to his eye—
He clipped bofe ears off fom Sam's
head—
It was a sin how po’ Sam bled!
He dislocated Sambo's jaw—
He cahved him to de bone—oh, Lawl
I tell you whiut, it wuz a sight
De way he slashed him lef' an’ right!
He spoiled Sam's go-to-meetin' clothes,
He whacked de end off fºom Sam's nose,
He cut him 'twel he hel’ his breff—
He like to cut de coon to deff!
When, suddenly, Sam tu’ns about,
An' draws a bran” new razah out,
An' whacks Jim Johnson jes' lak dat!
He sp’iled his ketch-me-quick plug hat-
He cut his head, he cut his feet,
An' den he made de two cuts meet—
He cut out Johnson's bes'es eye—
He cut his tongue out, putty night
He cut his name in Johnson's cheek—
He cut him 'twel he couldn't speak.
He cut de po’ man jes' foh fun—
Good Laud, I thought Jim's time had come!
24


Cl)6 ſºlub Tintroduced
But Johnson rallied, 'bout dis time,
An, swo’ dat he'd make Sambo climb!
Den, oh! de way dem two did fight,
No man kin tell in black an’-white:—
Slashin' one 'nother all to slashes,
An'gashin’ each other all to gashes!
Dey fit an’ mixed an’ mixed an’ fit—
Seemed lak dem fellahs wouldn’t quit!
And co’se we didn't nah one staht 'em;
An' didn't feel disposed to paht 'em;
An' Smiff say: “Let 'em fight it out;
Dey's got de grit you reads about.”
Alas! how I regrets to tell
How bofe at last in mincemeat fell.
But, in de midst ob dat brown hash,
De razahs still contrived to clash,
As ef de souls ob dem two shades
Still struggled in de razah blades!
We sent around an’ got some glue,
An' done de bes’ dat we could do—
We tried; but, man, we tried in vain
To make 'em stick together
again—
All we could do wuz git a
broom,
An' sweep 'em bofe out ob de
room.”

25


“The club met in Billy spooks' rear room.”

28


Jibout Black Wats
twenty years. Then there was Prof. Light-
foot Johnsing, the “con man,” tall, black, and
suave, and, next to Sandy, the most elegantly
attired man in the club. Then came “Bad
Bob Sampson,” sergeant-at-arms, standing
six feet two and weighing two hundred and
twenty pounds. Sampson had seen service
as a special detective, and had won the repu-
tation of being exceedingly “bad.” He had
been dishonorably discharged from “the
force” for his associations with levee high-
waymen, and, like water, had gradually found
his level among his levee friends. Nature
had blessed him with the color of half-roasted
coffee. There, too, was Saskatchewan Jones,
middle-sized, stout-built, and brown. He was
slightly above thirty years old; had a small,
thin mustache, and was possessed of a con-
suming desire to mutilate human counte-
nances with his razor. Nevertheless, he was
“good-hearted,” and would divide his last
penny with friend or foe. He would also
29


Che Black Wat Ølub
carve that friend or foe on the slightest
provocation. He would even “hunt trouble,”
and his joy at finding it was equaled only by
his ability to consume large quantities of
liquor and “good eatin’s.” Then there was
the Rev. Dark Loudmouth, a bona-fide ex-
minister who had “back-slidden" and drifted
into levee life. He was short, sleek, and
black; had a loud, shrill voice and very thick
lips, and was inclined to be somewhat corpu-
lent. By force of habit, probably, he still
wore the conventional ministerial garb—plug
hat, Prince Albert coat or “Jim Swinger,” as
he termed it; black trousers and white neck-
tie. K. C. Brighteyes, the club's treasurer,
was the silent man of the society. He said
little, but his courage was well known among
his companions. He was light brown in
complexion, square-shouldered, square-jawed,
small-eyed, and very stoutly built. He was
nearly six feet high. Slippery Simon, tall,
brown, slender, and utterly characterless, was
3o


cbe Black Zat Zlub
by the Rev. Dark Loudmouth, after which
Sandy arose, with as much dignity as a full
stomach and a starchy new suit of tailor-
made clothing would allow, and made the fol-
lowing remarks on the subject of cats—cats
in general and black cats in particular:
“Genamuns,” he said, “we b'ars an hon-
ah'd name. De cat—an' pertickler de Black
Cat—have bin a pow'ful an' 'spectable gena-
mun sense Time fust begun to wheel his
eternal flight ob circumlocution th'u' endless
ages ob nitric acid, quinessence ob floatin'
protoplasm, an' parlimentary usage!”
(The whole club fell to the floor, face down-
ward, fanned itself, and passed the bottle
around, while Saskatchewan Jones stretched
out in a dead faint. It required the entire
contents of Sandy's bottle to “bring him to.")
“Long befo' de earf wah made er de arch-
angel Gabriel had cut his milk-teeth, de
Black Cat had gradjiated f’om a singin'
school in Mahs, an' had created de planet
32


Jibout Black Wats
ob Juan Fernandez an' de islan' ob Meso-
potamia!
“De cat am a practical pusson. He am
no spring chicken. He am gen’ly cal'ated
to hab nine libes, but dis de cunjah man
'roun' de co'nah assures me am a sad mis-
take. He hab nine hundred and ninety-nine
libes, libs as long as he want to evah time,
an’, lak de good Christ'an, is ‘bo'n ag'in’ al-
mose any ole time. Dat's why de Theoso-
phists sings dey sacred solo, “De Cat Come
Back.’
“When de earf wah made widout fo’m er
void, de Black Cat wah dah, watchin' de
whole business, an' a-layin' his wires foh to
sen' Grovah Clebelan' to de United States
senate an' Dick Crokah to de happy lan' o'
Canaan! Fust thaing he done wuz to cross
our fo' parents' luck in de beautiful Gahden
ob Eden, an' sen' po’ Adam out to play foot-
ball wid de rattlesnakes an' In'juns in de
lonely Province ob Wes' Virginny. De
*
3 33


Che Black Wat Ølub
Black Cat am prone to ebil, as de spahks fly
up'ards. He am a lubber ob de back fence,
de telegraph pole, an' de midnight serenade.
Bootjacks, pistols, policemen's clubs, an' mis-
siles kin not stop his rapturous ditty to de
pale-face moon. He am a genamun He
am de mahvel ob de nations!
“You mout ax me whut de Black Cat hab
done foh sufferin’ humanity. I answer: He
am de inventer ob de watermillun, co’n pone,
sweeten 'taters, liquor, an' 'possum; an' wuz
de fust man to teach de cullud race de advis-
ability ob eatin’ po’k chops when you's flush
an’ libber when you's hahd up.” (Great ap-
plause by the club.) “Oh, de Laud will pro-
vide! Dat's why he gib us ole Mesmerizer
here to bring us good luck whahevah we goes
in de United Snakes ob Americy, while some
ob our good ole mothers is a-ben'in' Ovah de
wash-tub, 'way down yondah in Dixie-lan',
sheddin' briny tears an' a-sighin'—‘Whah's
ma won'rin' boy to-night?'
34


Jibout Black ºats
“’N’ while she's wo'kin' 'n' frettin', huh
trifflin' son's down on de co’nah, sunnin' his-
se'fan' shootin' dice, an' a-singin':
“‘Bells am a-ringin' in Memphis—
Bells am a-ringin' in Cario—
De sun's done sunk, an’ de alligatah's
Dreamin' in de deep bayou;
De ole folks done gone to chu'ch,
De little folks done gone to sleep—
'Way down on de ole homestead.
I’speck dey's grebin' 'bout me;
But dey's got to do widout me,
Tho' I wuz de sweetes’ blossom
In de ole homestead—
Huh ! seb'm—"leb’m ' ' "
“Dat's him l’’
(Cries of: “Dat's right, Sandy /"—“Ain't
it so 2 ” and “Had a good ole mother mase'lf.”)
“Genamuns,” Sandy continued, “de Black
Cat hab allus bin somebody. Look, whut a
pull he had widole Isis, one o' de riches' men
in Egypt, thousands o' years ago: Cat come
along one day, he did, an' crossed Mr. Isis'
35
Ez -


Che Black Wat Ølub
luck, an’ dat fellah didn't do a thing but beg
de cat's pawdon, an’ build a sacred temple to
him. Dat's all he done to him / An' don'
you think he kin take keer o' us 2—his needy
an' faithful chillun? All we's got to do is to
wo’k our rabbit's foot, an’ say nothin', an’
thaings’ll come our way.
“Genamuns, as I close a vision ob de fu-
ture comes befo' me: I sees de Black Cat
seated on a th'one so high dat he kin tetch
Jubiter wid his tail an’ use de moon foh a
cuspido'' I sees him git between de earf
an' de sun an' dey won't be no daylight 'twel
he moves | An' de same way wid de rain;
he licks dat up as it falls. An' evah time
he arch his back, dey's a hundred billion earf-
quakes an' tornados on de earf An' dey
ain't nobody got no 'fluence wid de cat but
de members ob dis club; an' people is a-fall-
in’ at your feets, th'o'in' us dey money an'
jewels an' rabbit's feet, an' sitch, an' a-totin'
us all de good eatin's in de known world.
36


Jibout Black ºats
An' evah membah ob dis club 'll hab a brass
ban' to 'sco't him 'roun’; an' a golden crown
on his brack head, an' a club in his han’ to
kill critics wid!—chillun to scatter flowers in
front ob him an' behind him, an' on bofe sides
ob him, an' fo’ty college gradjiates to cah'
his trailin’ robes l’”
Sandy sat down, out of breath, but well
satisfied with his address, and the club, as
soon as it could regain its proper functions,
tendered him a rising vote of thanks.
“Gweat day!” yelled Saskatchewan Jones,
“is I here er yondah? Whut wuz it struck
me, an’ whah did all dem stahs come fºom?”
X. Then Sandy, who had recovered his breath,
read his latest poem—
“DE BLACK CAT CROSSED HIS LUCK’”
I
“O, de Black Cat cotch ole Sambo Lee,
As he come home fom a jamboree!
De cat sot up in a juniper tree,
Shakin' ob his sides wid glee.
37


Che Black 2at Ølub
De moon was sailin’ oberhead—
Sam's h’aht felt lak a lump o' lead.
Black Cat grinned an’ wonk one eye,
Licked his paws an’ gib a sigh,
An' den he cried: ‘Me-ow, me-ow—
Upon ma soul ah'm got you now!
Fall down an' pray, po’ cullud man,
Foh de ole Black Cat done call yo' han’.”
ii
“Sam los’ his job de very nex’ day;
An' when he went to git his pay,
Got bit by a po’ man's dog—
Policeman beat him wid his log—
Got arrested, put in jail—
Had to hustle hahd foh bail—
Lost his lawsuit, sprained his jaw
Wranglin' wid his mother-in-law—
Lost his best ob lady lubs—
Got knocked out wid de boxin' glubs—
Got hel’ up an’ lost his roll—
Robber almose took his soul!
Sam went to de hospital—
Three weeks passed 'fo' he got well.
Played de races—got broke flat;
An' all because ob dat Black Cat!

38


Che Black ſºat Ølub
III
“Den to de cunjah-man Sam sped,
An' disam whut de cunjah-man said:
“Black Cat am a pow'ful man;
Ruinin’ mo'tals am his plan.
Ole Satan an’ de 'Riginal Sin
Am de daddy an' mammy o' him.
He's got nine hunderd an’ ninety-nine libes—
Nineteen thousan’ an’ ninety-nine wibes—
He's kin to cholera an’ allied
To smallpox on de mammy's side.
An' all de ebils on de earf
Stahted at de Black Cat's birf!—
Jes' stop an’ die right whah you's at,
Ef yo' luck bin crossed by de ole Black Cat!’
IV
“An' den Sam read in history
Dat a cat crossed Pharaoh by de see,
An' burried him, as sho's you bo'n,
Too deep to heah ole Gabriel's ho'nl
An' dat de cat crossed Jonah once,
An' made him ack a regular dunce.
Crossed Bonaparte at Waterloo,
An' got Jeems Blaine defeated, too.
39


Jibout Black 2ats
‘Oh, Laud a-mussy now on me!’
Cried Sam, “an' on dis history!”
An' den Sam went an’ killed de cat—
Swo'e he'd make an end o’ dat;–
Burried him in de light o' de moon,
Wid a rabbit's foot an’ a silver spoon.
But de Black Cat riz, an’swallered him whole—
Bu’nt his house an’ took his soul!”
“Doc,” said one of his hearers, “dat cat
wuz a wahm chicken an' a movin' chile !”
“Yes,” remarked another, “black cats is
dead bad luck. Dey's hoodooed me mo'
den once.”
Then the club adjourned, amid stories of
experiences with black cats.


Che Black Qat Ølub
cracked jokes from the moment the club met
until it adjourned.
Very little genuine literary work was done,
however, owing to the reading of a number
of letters which Sandy had received from per-
sons who had read about the club. The re-
ceipt of these letters necessitated the ap-
pointment of a secretary, a personage whom
the club had hitherto thought entirely un-
necessary. But the unexpected flood of
epistolary literature convinced the members
of their error.
“Genamuns,” said Sandy, as he called the
meeting to order, “befo' we proceeds wid de
enjoyment ob de eb'nin' look yondah at dat
pile o' letters! Whut you goin’ to do 'bout
dat? You knows I ain't got no time to an-
swer letters. Now, dey's some 'po'tant let-
ters here whut ought to be looked after at
once, an' I, foh one, favers app’intin' a secre-
tary an' payin' him to see to all sitch mat-
ters.”
42


Che Black 2at Ølub
it, stay 'way fom here! You makes me
right weak 'bout dem rules, an' ef you
stahts any mo' uv 'at nonsense, I'll cahve
you long's I kin fine a piece uv you!”
“Mr. President,” exclaimed the gigantic
sergeant-at-arms, “ef day's gwine to be any
fightin’ done, 'member you's 'p'inted me to
do it!” -
“Genamuns,” spoke up the Rev. Dark
Loudmouth, “’member you's brothers in dis
club, an’ too 'spectable to do anything bad.
Here! bofe uv you take a dram outen ma
bottle, an’ be fr’en's l’’
They both drank long and deep.
“Pass de bottle all 'roun',
Pass de bottle all 'roun',
Pass de bottle, an’ don’ slight none—
x 25
Jes’ pass de bottle all 'roun',
sang little Johnny Yellowshort, the cause of
all the war talk. The bottle was “passed,”
and by the time it went the rounds peace
44


Che Black Wat Ølub
the moral vineyard, you'll drap in an' git some
more p'ints on poitree—an' a square meal,
“I am yourn, etc.,
“JEEMSRIVER JILEs.”
“Mr. Secretary,” said Sandy, “write an’
see'f you cain't git de ole man down here,
so's we kin show 'im 'roun’ de town. Bet he
won't be so sassy when we gits th'u' wid
'im 1'.'
The club set up a roar of laughter as the
president finished his remarks, and the secre-
tary read a letter from a Dutchman who lives
in Chicago. It ran as follows:
“HON. SANTYPO SHINKINS:
“MINE SCHwa Rzer FRIENT.—Mine name
vas Shake Schneider, unt I geebs a von zaloon
py der Nordt seit oudt. I reads pyder babers
dot your “Plack Gat Glub' haff no vares to
meet. Goom to mine zaloon! I will gif you all
der peer vot you gan trink, unt, uf course, I make
lods uf moneys exzipidin' you vellers to der
Dutchmans dot gooms py mine blace.
“Goodtpy,
“SHAKE SCHNEIDER.”
º
46


Some Letters and a joine
“Tell 'im we's a-comin', Mr. Secretary 1”
shouted Sandy.
“Right you is, Doc,” cried Saskatchewan
Jones, “we’ll sho’ be dah! An' evah one uv
us 'll git his razor shahpened, too!”
The club laughed. -
“Read yo' letters, Mr. Secretary,” said
the president. And the secretary read the
following:
“CHICAGO, ILL.
“MR. SANDY JENKINs:
“DEAR SIR.—You doubtless know of the great
work of reform which our church is doing among
the colored people of the levee district this win-
ter. Knowing your great influence over this
large class of unfortunate people, we write to en-
list your sympathy in our work. You and your
remarkable club of excellent young men may
enjoy this world's goods for a little season, but
they will all vanish ere your little day is done.
The Wise Man says: ‘A’emember thy Creator in
the days of thy youth.” Our whole congregation
is praying for the conversion of you and your
club. Oh, that your hearts might be touched!
Please attend our revivals. We invite you to
47

º


Che Black Wat Ølub
the mourner's bench. Let us tell you the old,
old story; for oh, we love you and your kind!
Appoint a place that I may come and pray with
you. I would breast the severest storm, enter
the toughest dive, or plunge into the dense dark-
ness of the filthiest alley to make you and your
club converted men—even if we haven’t much
money with which to carry on our good work.
“Yours for righteousness,
“(Rev.) JEHosAPHAT JoHNSING THIRDLY.”
“Mr. Secretary,” said Sandy solemnly,
“sen' de good man $20, an' tell 'im we's all
comin' up to take sac'ament wid 'im soon.
Read some mo' letters.”
The next letter was from an inexperi-
enced colored high-school girl in Terre
Haute, Indiana. It ran: -
“DEAR MR. JENKINs.-I fear you'll think me
somewhat forward in writing to you; but I have
heard so much about you that I can not refrain
from the exquisite pleasure of penning you this
little note to say how very much you are admired
in Terre Haute.
“I’m a high-school girl, just seventeen—
48


Some Letters and a jome
“sweet seventeen,' you know. My complexion is
olive, my eyes are large and black, and my hair
is long, black, and wavy. I’m not ungraceful—
so I'm told. I hear that you wear fine clothes
and diamonds, and oh! I’m so glad!
“We are old settlers here, and move in the
best colored society. Papa is a tonsorial artist.
He runs a large shop, and owns his own home.
Mama is something of an elocutionist, and is
quite accomplished. I am their only child. I
am studying French and German, and play the
piano. I have read all your poems, and think
they are just lovely. To my mind, you are like
Longfellow, Shakespere, and James Whitcomb
Riley combined Oh! I know you're a very
great and handsome young man! I am proud of
your talent, and think you will some day become
a great author and a power in the world. You
have begun your career in an humble way; but I
hope to see you climb to the top—the one great
poet of the Negro race. Should you ever come
to Terre Haute, I hope to have the
pleasure of meeting you.
“Yours sincerely, §.
“ (Miss) SIByll UNDERwood.”
“Mr. Secretary,” said Sandy, with a grin,

4. 49 -


che Black Øat Ølub
“I’ll 'ten' to 'at letter, maself! Read
22
Oil.
The next letter was from an indignant col-
ored woman who did not approve of the club.
It ran :
‘ARMOUR Ave., CHICAGO, ILL.
“MR. SANDY JENKINs:
“SIR.—I am a colored sewing lady, and move
in the best society; but, unfortunately, having
the same name as yourself, I am often placed
in a most embarrassing position because of your
unenviable notoriety. I heartily disagree with
the course which you and your boon companions
are pursuing, tho I believe you have some talent
—supplemented by a good deal of ignorance and
superstition. Your “Black Cat Club,” with its
horrid orgies and disgusting antics, belongs to
a past generation. We who are trying to uplift
the race to a higher plane of civilization are dis-
gusted by such uncircumspect and undignified
conduct. I suggest that you disband your club,
reform, and take ten years' solitary confinement
—in school.
“Hopefully and sincerely your friend,
“(Mrs.) CoRRINE WooDBy-JENKINs.”
5o


Some Letters and a jome
“Umph!” exclaimed Sandy, “but dat
lady do keek big wo'ds at me wid bofe han's
an' feet! Say I’m ‘ign'ant,' do she? Mr.
Secretary, git down yo' dictionary an' hunt
up all de big wo'ds in it; den write dat gala
letter. Tell huh we's g’ine to fetch de Black
Cat up dah 'n' let 'im cross huh do'-step fo’ty
times. We'll see who’s “ign'ant an’ supa'-
stitious !’ Bet I’ll git a 'pology fom huh
on de nex' mail.”
Then Sandy read his latest poem, called
“"WAY IN DE WOODS, AN' NOBODY
DAH " +
I
“De ole owl libs in a lonely place—
'Way in de woods, an’ nobody dah!
Eyes lak sunflowers in his face—
'Way in de woods, an' nobody dah.
Sets an’ broods alone, alone—
Set an’ sigh an’ moan an’ moan,
When de silvah moon goes down—
'Way in de woods, an' nobody dah.
*By courtesy of the Century Magazine.



51


Che Black Wat Ølub
II
“O heah de lonely whip-po'-will!—
'Way in de woods, an' nobody dah—
Complainin’ when de night am still—
'Way in de woods, an' nobody dah!
Dah de wand'rin’ night winds stray,
Dah de groanin' branches sway,
Ghosts an’ witches lose dey way—
'Way in de woods, an' nobody dah.
III
“’Way down in ma Southern home—
'Way in de woods, an’ nobody dah—
Dah's de place I longs to roam—
'Way in de woods, an' nobody dah.
O ma lub wid eyes ob coal,
Listen 'tel ma story's tole:
Owl's a-hootin’ in ma soul—
'Way in de woods, an’ nobody dah!”
“Say Doc,” exclaimed Saskatchewan
Jones, “whut's de mattah wid yo? Dat
ain't lak yo’ other pieces. W’y, dey ain't a
laugh in it!”
“Oh, go on, cullud man,” Sandy replied,
52


Some Letters and a jome
“I written dat piece to show what de white
folks calls ma versamantality!”
Then the club devoured a midnight
luncheon, and adjourned.

53


CHAPTER IV
De Gddicated ſºullud Iſlam
At the next meeting, President Jenkins
delivered a lecture on “De Eddicated Cullud
Man.”
After a little preliminary business, the
dusky throstle of the levee stepped forward.
He was clad in a new black dress suit, patent-
leather shoes, with light over-gaiters, spotless
linen, diamonds, and a self-satisfied grin.
He carried a shining silk plug hat and a
gold-headed umbrella, both of which he laid
tenderly on the table before him. He spoke
without notes, in a clear, decided voice which
showed that in his own mind, at least, he was
master of his subject. He began in a meas-
ured, dignified tone, but soon he was ges-
54


De Eddicated Zuliud man
ticulating and fuming in indignant fury and
perspiring with emotion, as he warmed up
to his subject.
He held his hearers spell-bound,
but when he ceased to flood the room
with the effulgence of his palpitating
intellect, he was perspiring like a man in
a harvest-field. His clothing was disar-
ranged, his hat and umbrella were lost,
and his wilted collar was dangling
by one end. All that remained un-
changed about him were his diamonds
and his grin. But Sandy had un-
burdened his soul and was happy.
“Genamuns,” he began, “de thriftless
eddicated cullud man whut de colleges am
scatterin' promiscuous' th'u' ouh lan', as some
lan'-po' fahmah tu'ns his cattle out to pick a
libbin' foh deyse'fs, whahevah dey kin fine it,
am de subjeck ob de disco'sement 'at I'vites
yo' 'tention to dis ebe'nin'. Whilst de col-
lege may have tu'n'd out some useful cullud







55


Che Black Wat Ølub
folks, it hab sont out heaps uv 'em 'at have
been mo’ no accountah den befo'. De kine
o’ dahkey I'se talkin' 'bout am de feller
whut's done bumped his head up ag'inst
some college 'tel he cain't talk nothin' but
Greek an' Latin, an' cuss you in Trinogo-
metry. Whut's dat chap good foh 2–Noth-
in’ l—nothin' whutsomevah l’” And Sandy
brought his fist down on the table with a
whack that nearly smashed in the crown of
his plug hat!
“Dey's many a graddiate,” continued
Sandy, “’at sticks his d'plomer down into his
trunk, an’ lets his mammy take keer o' him.
No genamun would do dat! A genamun is a
man /—'plomer er no 'plomer! I ain't got
no use foh dem 'plomers An’ any member
uv de ‘Black Cat Club' whut's cotch wid
one o’ dem 'plomers on 'im 'll be fined an’
suspended fom de society De shifless
graddiate gen’ly wakes up aftah his po'ole
mammy's done washed huhse'f to deff—try-
56


Che Black Wat Ølub
s
niggahs. Dat only makes 'em mad. De
thaing foh to do is to be a genamun an' git
yo' pocket full o' check books, fust mo'gages
an' cash.
“Now, s'posen dey wuz a lynchin' 'bout to
take place, an' de curly-headed brunette whut
was to be de pahty acted upon hel' a fust
mo'gage on de home uv evah man in de
lynchin' pahty. An' s'posen mose o' dem
mo'gages wuz 'bout due er ovah due; an'
s'posen jes' 'fo' dey lit de fiah er strung 'im
up, de cullud man wuz to say: ‘Genamuns,
ef you lynches me, mason 'll fo'close all ma
mo'gages t'morrer! Dis amma ultimatum. /*
Do you thaink dey would have any lynchin'-
bee 'at day? No sah! Now, whut could de
college dahkey do?—Nothin' but say his
prayers. All de big wo'ds in de dictionary
couldn't save 'im!” (Thunderous applause
by the club.)
“I knowed a cullud man once,” continued
Sandy, “’at got to clerkin' in a white man's
58


De Gddicated £uliud Iſlam
sto’e, an’ de man's trade lef' 'im so fas' he
had to tu'n de dahkey off. Whut wuz 'at
dahkey's eddication good foh W’y, I'm got
mo’ eddication mase'f den I kin use ! I
knowed a cullud graddiate once 'at wuz
'lected president uv a white literary society
—an' he went right f'om one faintin' fit into
anothah ! I wuz dah, an' seed de doctahs
a-wo'kin' ovah 'im foh two hours. S' I:
‘Take dat dahkey outen de president's
cheer!' Took 'im out dey did, an' he re-
covered in two minutes.” (Laughter and
cries of “Good Laud, Doc, don't let 'im down
so hahd /")
“De cullud graddiate,” continued Sandy,
warming up, “is ag'in' Bookah T. Washin'-
ton. But I tell you dat man's doin' a heap
mo' good in de Souf den all de graddiates
whut's a-slanderin' uv 'im an' writin' res-
olutions.” (“Cries of “Dat's a fack / ")
“Look at de genamuns uv dis club We
ain't got much book l'arnin', but we has

59


Che Black Wat ſºlub
lit'a'ly cahved ouh way to fame an' fortune.”
(An uproar of applause, and a cry from Sas-
katchewan Jones: “Doc, you's de talkin'est
man I evah did see / ")
“Genamuns,” Sandy continued, “de eddi-
cated dahkey ain't good foh nothin'! A
p'liceman kin bluff 'im lak a dog! Has dey
evah bluffed us f" (Cries of “No 1")
“Whut's his eddication good foh 2–He
cain't eat it, an' he cain't wear it. It won't
take 'im no place 'at I can't go, ner buy 'im
nothin' 'at I can't git. An' de onlies' place
whah de college man's got it on to me is in
writin' resolutions, an’ risin' at a indignation
meetin' an’ sayin': ‘Mr. President: I
dat have done an' bin f’om de Evah-
glades in Floridy to de gwate lakes on
de Nawf; an' fºom de co’n-fields uv
Spennsylvany to de rice-fields uv Souse
Ca'liny; an' fom de rock-boun' coas' o'
Maine to de Gol'en Gates ob de Spacific
—I, sah, dat have done an' gone an'


6o


De Gddicated £uliud Iſlam
went an’ studied Greek an' Latin an' French
an' Hebrew an' geometry an' ornithology
—an’ all de othah ologies—I rises befo'
dis gwate an' gran' an' potent an' pow'-
ful an’ august an’ learned an' dignified an'
'spectable, intelligent, earnest, law-abidin'
citizens an' genamuns foh to state ma p'int
o' pussonal privileges l’—Dah's whah 'at
dahkey's got it onto me!”
Sandy stopped for breath. Then he
added: “Den dah's de eddicated cullud
'omen.—Mose uv 'em's gittin' too fine nowa-
days to cook a meals o' vit'ults. Dey don't
know how to wash an' i'ne no mo'; an' dey
don't want to learn. All dey wants to do is
to set in de pahlah an’ rock er play de pianer,
whilst dey po’ mother's in de wash-tub, out
in de kitchen, an’ dey father er husban's
carryin' de hod. Ain't daternuff to knock
de race silly? Ain't it 'nuff to dribe a man
to drink evah time he contemplates de holy
state o' matahmony 2 Does you blame me
61


Che Black (Zat Ølub
foh stayin' single? Ma Laud! ma ole mam-
my wasn't 'fraid to he'p huh husban'. But
now-days dey's cullud girls by de dozen 'at
won't git married 'tel dey thainks dey's
foun' a good fool—one 'at 'll wo'k lak a dog
foh 'em, an' let dem set on de lazy ‘stool o'
do-nothin' ' ' An' de fust time de po’ man
loses a few dollahs er happens to git sick,
dey's ready to leave 'im! An'l lak uz not,
dey'll slandah 'im good an' plenty aftah dey's
gone. An'ef he nevah gits on his feet no
mo', dey'll seek a bill uv divo’cement fom
'im.
“Ma fr’en's, true lub ain't made outen dat
kine o' stuff. True lub–de kine 'at grows
an' endures—is a sweet an' holy thaing. It
sings in cottage homes, an' plants de mo'nin'
glories uv hope aroun' de humble do'. It
bends above de cradle ob de young, an' lights
de true wife's face wid sweetness as she
stan's in de do'-way at sunset, awaitin' de
retu'n uv de man who hol's huh h'aht. It
62


De Gddicated £uliud Iſlam
makes labor light, an' teaches huh de glory
uv sacrifice; it makes huh de angel uv de
home, an’ de comfo’t uv declinin' yeahs. It
makes huh strong in trouble, an’ she kin say
in de wo'ds uv de poet:
“‘You has called me yo' angel in moments uv
bliss,
An' yo' angel I’ll prove mid de horror uv dis;
Th'u'de fu'nis, unshrinkin', yo' steps I’ll pasue,
An' I'll shiel’ you, an’ sabe you, er perish dah
too.”
“De 'oman 'at have stood befo' God, an’
in de presence uv his witnessin' angels, an’
married widout feelin' dat kine o' lub; de
'oman who, on de slightes' pretex', lebes huh
husban' when trouble comes, an' rushes into
de divo'ce co’ts, hab tole a lie so big an'
black 'at it may hide de gol'en gates ob de
Holy City fom huh at de las” day. It's too
bad, but we's got ouh shere o' dem kine o'
women in de cullud race, an’ de ed-
dication 'at makes 'em so ain't good.

63


CB& Black (Zat Ølub
“So many uv ouh girls is a-lookin' foh de
big fish wid de gol'en gills; but de big fish
don't allus bite. An' so we's gitth' a lot o'
crabbed, disapp'inted ole maids in de race 'at
wouldn't make wives foh nothin' dis side o'
to'ment. Dese fool notions uv de new 'om-
an an' society has done ruint ouh girls! I
ain't nothin' wid dese new gals. 'N' 'f I evah
marries a 'oman, it'll be some modes' young
gal 'way off in some small town—er fom de
country—one 'at 'll grow up to be a good,
old-fashioned wife, jes' lakma mothah wuz.
“But de trouble is: Dey's so few uv dem
gals lef’. An' dem 'at’s lef' doan.' 'pear to
know a good man when dey sees 'im. W’y,
dey'd rather hab a college graddiate den me /
Yes, sah!—one o' dem good-foh-nothin' dan-
dies 'at I could cahve ma monogram in l’”
Sandy took his seat, exhausted, amid a tu-
mult of applause, and the club adjourned.
64


ſº
gº
CHAPTER V
Bei der Dort Seit Oudt
THE club held its next meeting in a North
Side saloon, as the guests of the jovial Ger-
man, “Shake Schneider,” as that worthy was
familiarly known among the patrons of “his
place.”
The club first met by arrangement at its
headquarters, where a grand inspection of
razors was held. Then it marched in a body
through State street, boarded the first cable
car that came along, and monopolized as
many seats as possible.
Upon arriving at their destination, the
jolly levee denizens found the saloon ablaze



5 65


Che Black Wat Ølub
with lights, and a great crowd of Dutchmen
congregated about it, anxiously awaiting
their coming. It was an impatient yet good-
natured gathering. It had been waiting
since six o'clock that evening, and had
amused itself by stopping every colored
passer-by and inquiring: “Beast du a mem-
ber oft der Plack Gat Glub 2 " Inside the
saloon a “leetle German pand " was punctur-
ing the air with toothache and catnip fits,
while stretching across the street hung a
great canvas banner upon which was in-
scribed :
HON. SANTYPO SHINKINS
unt his
C R A T E PLA C K G A T G L U B S
Will meedt here to-night !
Coot music Lots um fun
Goom ev’rypodys'
Ein class um peer,
Zweibretzels, unt
Ein wienervurst—5 cts
66


Bei der Dort Seit Oudt
“Ain’t dat all right, Doc?” observed lit-
tle Johnny Yellowshort, pointing joyously at
the sign, in happy anticipation of the good
time coming.
“Yes, Mr. Secretary,” Sandy replied,
“we’s in honey, sho’ſ ” Then taking his
position at the head of his followers, he com-
manded, with as much dignity as possible:
“Genamuns ob de Black Cat Club, fall in
line ! Single file ! Draw razahs! March 1”
And leading his men through the crowd of
scattering Dutchmen, Sandy entered the sa-
loon and marched deliberately up to the bar,
where he demanded :
“Whah's de 'priatah uv dis place?”
“You was dalkin' to him,” said Schneider,
from behind the bar. “Mr. Shinkins, I was
clad to meedt you unt der crate Plack Gat
glub. Vat you trink?” -
“Gib us whisky straight, Dutchy,” Sandy
replied, “an' don’ be too long about it; 'ca'se
we ain't drunk nothin' sense we come fom
*> 67 cºs
-?’ ~


* Bei der hort Seit Oudt
pie season. Dis here am Bad Bob Sampson.
He's a dreadful bad niggah ! Dat's Sas-
katchewan Jones, a crank on cahvin'. An'
dis am K. C. Brighteyes, our treasurer, a
dead squah man dat nevah showed fear. Dis
am Lightfoot Johnsing, de bes' co’n” man on
de levee. An' dis am Roustabout Thomp-
son, whut kin bluff any p'liceman in de city.
An' dis am Slippery Simon, a bo'n genamun
whut nevah stained his han's wid wo'k.
Now, las', but not least,” concluded Sandy,
untying a big silk bag in the hands of Bad
* “Co'n” in negro dialect stands for “corn.”
Negroes did not like corn because they were
compelled to eat corn bread in slavery until they
were disgusted with it. So, now,
when disgusted with a subject, or
when they wish to say, “You
are giving me taffy,” they say in-
stead, “You’re feedin' me ‘co'n.'
A “co'n man,” then, is a taffy-
feeder who lives by his wits—a
“confidence man.” J. D. C.
69


Che Black 2at Ølub
Bob Sampson, and hauling out his gigantic
black cat, “dis am ole man Mesmerizer, de
hoodooer an' mascot ob de club. Dis cat am
a chunk o' purgatory, an' his eyes am flames
dat's bu'nin' th'u' his head!"
The cat and the crowd set up a succession
of vicious howls and thunderous peals of
laughter that aroused the neighborhood.
Then the club was seated in a semicircle,
with Sandy and his cat in the middle, and
Schneider came forward and remarked, with
the best bow of which he was capable:
“Mine schwarzer Plack Gat glub vrents—”
“Say, Dutchy, me 'n' you's twins !” broke
in Roustabout Thompson, standing himself
beside the saloonkeeper, and illustrating the
assumption, much to the amusement of the
crowd.
“Yaw, te Ziamese dwins !” said Schneider,
with a chuckle. And the crowd laughed
afresh. Then Schneider continued:
“Ve vill now haff a liderary brocram in
7o


Bei der ºort Seit Oudt
vitch I dinks you vill pe inderested. Te
first dings on der tocked vill pe a nigger
song, ‘Garry me Pack pyolt Virginny,' py
Hans von Weidner—five monnats von olt
goundry.”
Little Hans came forward, bowed clum-
sily, and proceeded to murder the old Negro
melody with an air of sweet contentment that
would have driven its author crazy. The
jolly Dutchmen laughed themselves hoarse,
and many of the colored clubmen fell to the
floor, rolled over and over, and writhed in
paroxysms of darky delight.
“Hans, you's a soon chile,” said Sandy,
wiping his eyes.
Then Schneider announced that the next
song would be a dance—the “Essence of ole
Virginny,” executed by himself, followed
by a German dialect poem by Prof.
Fritz Schlamn, after which, he
hoped, the distinguished Mr.
Jenkins would kindly con-





7 I


CI)e Black Wat Ølub
clude the program with one of his “peaudi-
ful boems.”
Then the music started, and, taking a long
breath, Schneider began a peculiar series of
lumbering gymnastics which would have de-
fied the workings of Edison's kinetoscope.
He hopped, waltzed, jigged, clogged, and
two-stepped. He swung his arms, kicked
his feet, spun on one toe, stood on his head,
kicked up his heels, patted his stomach, fell
down, rolled over and over and got up again,
puffing and blowing, and ended by sitting
down with a resounding thud that broke a
dozen beer-glasses and shook down a barrel
of plaster upon his guests and his own
devoted head. But, as if not satisfied,
Schneider rolled over and smashed his
foot through the head of the bass drum.
This precipitated a riot, and for five minutes
Dutchmen and Negroes were scrambling to-
gether and pulling noses, “without regard to


72


Che Black Wat ØIub
IV
“Unt den, I tink, “I gidts mine ink,
Unt write all tem dings down;
But I looked von hour mit all mine bower
Pefore dot ink was found.’”
Schlamn's poem was vigorously applauded
by the Dutchmen.
“You thainks you's ‘slammed' it on to
me,” said Sandy, stepping forward; “but I'll
beat you at yo' own game. Here's a Dutch
piece I written mase'f, las' week—'specially
foh dis occasion. De title is
“HE LAUGHS BES’ DAT LAUGHS LAS’”
I
“I geebs von fine meat market store;
Mine name dot was Shake Steiner;
Te odder tay I locks mine toor,
Unt go up home to dinner.
Der goes no sqreed-gar bast mine blace,
Unt, dwas no use uf dalkin’—
Der bavement was so slibbery dot
I goodn't dink uf walkin'.
74


Bei der hort Seit Oudt
I look aroundt, unt, burty soon,
I sees von gleffer feller
Dot trives der leetle wagons
For von cheese unt sugar seller.
II
“‘Hay, Bop,' I said, “how was yourself?
I'm clad dot you was pin here;
I want to ride up home mit you.’
“All right,” Bop said, ‘hob in here.”
So I shumped in, unt up der sdreed
Ve vent in von pig hurry,
Unt Bop unt I ve laughed unt dalked,
Unt ef'rydings was merry.
Unt all der bedbles on der sqreed
Yust slibbin' unt er slidin’
Vile Bop unt I in dot sbring seat
So gumf'terbly vere ridin'.
III
“Von chap was yust ahead of us,
His name was Tom McGeoghan,
He gooms each tay into mine blace,
Ven I am sausage magin',
Unt ask if I budt bob-dailed radts,
Unt all dot nonsense in it—
Unt, ouch! mine Gott! I pe so madt
Like dunder in von minute!
75


Bei der DSrt Sgit Oudt
:
i
:
º
-
:
t
| *
-- .
worl’l” exclaimed Saskatchewan Jones.
“We's gwine to git you a gol' crown, an' yo'
feet shan't nevah hit de groun' no mo' while
you libs!” And, lifting their hero upon
their shoulders, the dusky revelers returned
home, elated with their evening's fun.
77


Gibosts, (Uitebes, and 5Sodocs
in de city had me foh a good thaing. One
night I'd bin down-town, drinkin' a little bit.
Dat wuz 'bout six years ago, when I wuz
kine o' half-way 'spectable. Well, jes' as I
stahted home, de durndes', bigges' ole black
cat in de Newnited States crossed ma paff.
I wuz 'bout ha'f ‘shot '; but I knowed dat
cat wuz fatal to me! I keeps on tho', an'
jes' as I pass' de Twelft-street viaduct, I
looks back ovah ma lef’ shouldah, an' I sees
somethin’ dat makes ma wool stan' up!
Good Laud, it skeers me now !
“I seed a man about twelve feet high, an'
I allus will believe 'twas de debil. His eyes
shine lak two new moons. His nose puff
smoke lak a tah-kiln. His lips look lak two
chunks o' roast beef widout de gwavy. His
ears hung down lak a 'baccah leaf. He had
ho'ns an' tail, an' one uv his feet wuz a black
cat an' de othah wuz a snake! O ma Laud |
An' den he speaks, sayin': ‘Sampson, I's
a-gwine to slap de tase outen yo' mouf l'
79


Che Black ſºat Ølub
Gweat Day! I felt foh ma razah, an' it wah
gone! S' I: “Feet, he'p de body!’ An' de
way I to'e up sidewalk wid maco'n planta-
tions an' bu'nt de air wid ma coat-tails wuz
a caution I 'speck dey heahd me a mile
away, an’ thought it wuz a sto'm a-comin'!
W’y, I lak to to'e up all de railroad tracks I
crossed An' when I got home, I didn't hab
on no mo' shoes den a rabbit! Couldn't go
no whah 'tel ma pahdner caught policy, an'
bought me some new shoes. An' I wuz
trustee in de Mef'odis' chu'ch, too!—an' wuz
kinder settin' to de preachah's daughter.
An' she wah putty as a peach Make yo'
mouf watah to look at huh !
“Well, 'fo' God, I wuz dat bad hoodooed
dat I had a fallin' out wid ma girl; got
tu'ned outen chu'ch—an’ mighty nigh went
to de dogs. Laud knows I wuz glad when
ole Sandy organized dis club l’”
“Dat remin's me,” said the Rev. Dark
Loudmouth, “uv when I wuz pastah uv a lit-
8o -
*T*Jºss-


6.bosts, (Jitches, and 5Sodocs
tle Mef'odis' chu'ch in In'junap'lis: A black
cat cross' me one day on Locerkby street,
right in front uv Bruddah Jeems Whitcomb
Riley's. I tu'ns aroun’ th’ee times, I does, an’
spits on de groun', ovah ma lef’ shouldah, an'
walks back-ahds 'tel I pass' de spot whah de
black cat cross' me. Den I rubs ma rabbit's
foot, an' goes ovah to de other side o' town, an'
takes supper an' drunk a little egg-nog wid
one o' de sistahs uv machu'ch. But I couldn't
he'p feelin' a little jube'us 'bout dat cat!
“Dat ebening, 'bout 'leben, I wuz goin'
home, an' jes' is I wuz a-ambulatin' 'roun’
dat big sto'e de white folks calls de ‘When,'
I seed a stylish white genamun a-stan'in'
dah, an’, thainkin’ he wuz one uv de owners
uv de place, I takes ma hat off to him, an’
wuz jes' fixin' up ma mouf to ax'im to he'p
machu'ch, when—name o' God!—de man
retch up an' pulled his head off an' han's it
to me, wid de mouf a-wo'kin', an' de blood
a-drippin' on de sidewalk!
6 81


Cl)& Black Wat Ølub
“S'I: “Saints in heabenly res'!—Mister,
I don' want none o' yo' money, ner nothin'
you's got / ' An' away I took—down de
street—lak a runaway hoss! But fust
thaing I knowed, I had done collided wid de
bigges' Irish p'liceman in In'junap'lis, an' we
wuz a-cussin' one 'nother an' tryin' to gouge
each other's eyes out. --A-\
= “S’e: “Whut in th’ divvil’s th’ mather
wid yez?’ -
“S’I: “Whut in de debbel's de mattah
wid you ?’
“S'e: ‘Yez don't know who o'I adm, do
yez?’
“S'I: ‘Yes, 'n' you doan’ know who I am,
nothah l’
“S'e: “Air yez crazy?’
“S’I: ‘Mr. Officer, I has done seen de
wo'ses' ghose dat evah skeert a cullud man /'
An' den I ups an' tells 'im de whole story.
“‘Yez kin go home, sez he; “thot's th’
same t'ing thot made me parthner, Officer
82


“De man retch up an' pulled his head off an’
han’s it to me.”

83


Cl)g Black Wat Ølub
Muggins, dhrop his club an' run last night,
afther he had been lushin'. Git home wit
yez! But moind ye don't mix yer drinks
loike thot, no more. Thot privilege is only
fer th' byes av th’ force.”
“I takes de street cah, an' goes home.
X But, 'fo' God, I wuz tu'ned outen confence
dat year, an' I ain't had no luck sence.”
And Loudmouth sat down.
“’Fo' I come to Chicago,” said Saskatche-
wan Jones, arising, “I had a 'sperience dat I
nevah will fergit long's I'm a cullud man. I
wah livin' in ma native home in Tennessee,
at de time, an' had bin to see a lady I Wuz
settin' to, an’ wuz comin' home, late one
Sunday night. Had about fo' miles to go;
but de moon wuz shinin’ kine o' dismal lak,
an' I had ma razah, an' didn't feel afraid—
tho dey wuz a strip o' woods an' a ole-fash-
ioned country graveyard wid a deserted
chu'ch in it ’tween me an' home. Dey wuz
ha’nts in dat graveyahd, too! But I couldn't
84


6.bosts, (Jitches, and 5Sodocs
stop fer dat, ef I wa'n't but fifteen years ole;
'ca'se me 'n' ma gal had de weddin' day all
set. 'N' I had to git home, so's I wouldn't
lose ma job.
“Jes’ is I wah tellin' ma lady-love good-
night, huh mammy's ole black cat runs be-
twix’ me'n' huh, an' ma haht leaps into ma
mouf. But I stahts out, an' gits th’u’ de
woods all right—'sept dat a screech-owl
skeert me some—an' wuz jes' gittin' abres'
uv de chu'ch, when I sees de same identical
black cat, wid a candle bu'nin' in huh belly,
come walkin' straight to me on huh hine
laigs, playin' de fiddle, an' singin':
“Great big house, an’ nobody libbin' in it—
Nobody libbin' in it, nobody libbin' in it—
Great big house, an' nobody libbin' in it—
Down in Tennessee.”
“Evah step dat cat took, she got biggah
'n' biggah | By de time she got front o' me,
she wuz big as a cow! Den she wheels
85


Che Black Wat Ølub
'roun', facin' uv me, an’ blows a stream o' fire
outen bofe sides o' huh nose, an” say:
“* In de name o' Father, Son, an’ Holy Ghose, I
fohbids you goin' to see Miss Lucy Ann no mo'. I
lubs you ma self. You ar' to be mapahdner at de
Witches' Dance to-night. Lemme take yo' ahm,'
“An' she reaches foh me. Good Laud!
I out wid ma razah, an' I slashes at huh—
cuttin' huh plum' in two ! But she
gethers huhse'f up, an' grows big-
gah'n a elephant in ten secon's, an'
stan's wid huh ahms spread clean
across de road, right in front uv me.
An' smoke a-rollin' out uv huh nose,
lak a volcano! Gweat Day! It wuz
do er die! I shet ma eyes, an'
plunges to one side. De cat grabs
at me is I pass, but Lawl—dese feet
o' mine had wings —seem lak I jes'
got up an' flew—wingin' wid de
angels, an’ ma coat-tails ahgafyin'
wid de win'!

86


6.bosts, (Jitches, and 5Sodocs
“Decat mus' 'a' got discouraged, jes' look-
in’ at me tread air! How I got home is a
myst'ry to me to-day; foh I nevah knowed
nothin' tel I fell in de front do'—right whah
de white folks wuz a-sleepin'. Mashins wuz
bahked, ma nose wuz bleedin', ma back wuz
all scratched up an' muddy—ma shoe soles
wuz gone, an’ bofe big toe-nails wuz off
Got discharged, lost ma gal, an' de story got
out dat I'd bin drunk, an' I had to come to --
Chicago to hide ma disgrace.” And Jones
sat down, laughing—with the rest:- slº -
“Ma father used to tell a tale,” said K. C. \
Brighteyes, “dat used to skeer us chillun
mose to deff. I've bin ackshully too skeert
when he wuz tellin' it to git up an' git ma
se'f a drink o' watah. An' de watah bucket
stood on de table, right in de room whah we
wuz settin'. Still, somehow 'nother, I laked
dat story, an' when us chillun used to be
a-settin' 'roun' de fireplace uv aev'nin', eatin'
guphah-peas, an’ listenin' to de win' sighin'
87


Che Black 2at Ølub
out o' do's, an' a-whistlin' in th’u’ de chinks
in de cabin wall, us li'l' uns 'ud coax Pap to
tell it, an' set mouf-open, hol'in' our breff,
tel he said de las' wo'd. An' he allus tole it
alike—nevah knowed him to change. Got
so, by’m-by, I could tell it ma self. I’speck
some o' you has hu'd de story. It run lak
dis:
“‘One eb'nin' in 'tatah-diggin' time, when
de woods wuz tu'nin' yallah, an' de nights
wah growin' long, me an' some mo' young
dahkies dat wuz raised on our plantation
down in ole Virginny, whah I wah bred an'
bo'n, stahted out a coon huntin'.
“‘Dah wuz me, fus’ an’ fo’mus', despryes'
dahkey in de lot, an’ “Big Eagle,” a six-
foot yellah niggah wid ham fists, measurin'
seben foot f’om tip to tip, wid his wings
spread. Couldn't no overseer in de county
whip'im, an' he knock a mule
down wid his natchul han’ſ
Den dah wuz “Thompson's

88


Gibosts, (Jitches, and 5Sodocs
Bill,” de cunjah man; Tom Johnson, de fid-
dler; Jones Lee, Rubin Calloway, June Tatro,
de Guinny man; Pompey Colefax, de fop;
Bud Mason an' Buck Jackson, whut could
out-butt any ram on de place. Den dah wuz
ole Uncle Ephum, de bes' coon hunter in
Rockbridge county. Ole man had de rheu-
matiz so bad he hadn't walked none in twelve
years; but we carried him 'long foh de p'int-
ers he could gib us on ketchin' coon—totin'
him, fus one den a 'nothah, on our shoulders.
We took along de houn's, guns an' axes, a
jimmyjohn uv good lickah an' a lot o' right
greasy cracklin' bread, an' wuz de happies' set
o'dahkies in de worl’. -
“‘Nevah will fergit dat night de longes'
day I live! Moon shine bright /—sky wuz
cleah, an' dey wah skacely a bref o' win'stir-
rin'—jes' de time foh coon huntin'! We
hunted 'tel 'long 'bout midnight, when we
run de bigges' coon I evah see up a big gum
tree, 'bout fo' miles fºom home. Houn's
89


Che Black Wat Ølub
'peared so crazy to git at dat coon seem lak
dey'd tear de tree down. An' ole Uncle
Ephum, 'bout a rod away, wuz fahly sweatin'
an' foamin' wid anxiety. I blazes 'way at de
coon, an' misses; loads an' fires ag’in, an' hits
'im in de same place. An' by dis time evah
fellah in de pahty wuz shootin' 'way lak mad
——but missin' evah crack. “Aim fer his
eyes!—aim fer his eyes!” cried Uncle Ep-
hum, “an' all uv you shoot at once!”
“‘Bi-oo! went de guns. But de coon
only grins, much is to say, “Nevah tetched
me!” “Wait tel I git holt uv you, ole fel-
lah,” sez Big Eagle, “I’ll take some o' de
sass outen you!”
“‘By dis time our ammanition wah gone,
an' we begun to th'o' clubs. But de coon
nevah budge.
“‘“Chop down de tree chop down de
tree, you nummies!” yells Uncle Ephum,
rollin' an' groanin' wid his rheumatiz, “an'
be sho' you th'o' it 'way f’om me / Keep
90


6.bosts, (Jitches, and 5Sodocs
yo’ eye on de coon, an’, is de tree fall, set de
dogs on 'im.”
“‘We cut down de tree, an' is it fall, de
coon simply jump to de nex' tree. Chop dat
down, an' he jump ag’in.
“‘Sez Uncle Ephum : “Sumpin' mouty
cure'us 'bout dat coon! I hope he ain't de
Black Cat Ha'nt I’ve hearn ma father tell
about. Ef ’tis, God he'p dese po'ole bones
o' mine ! Ax 'im who he is in de name o'
Father, Son, an' Holy Ghose.”
“‘I goes up to de tree an' say: “In de
name o' Father, Son, an' Holy Ghose, who is
you dat we's done an' treed 2 ”
“‘De thaing tu'ns 'medjetly to a big
black cat, blows a forked red flame outen his
mouf-an’ all de leaves on de tree withers to
a crisp ! “Who?—who?—who 2 " he say,
jumpin' fom limb to limb. An’
de houn's commence' a-whinin'
lak whipped curs.
“‘“God - a - mussy' God-a-
9I


Che Black 2at Ølub
mussy / " moans Uncle Ephum, buryin' his
face in de leaves, “Laud God-a-mussy on ma
po', ole weeked soul! Spah me, Laud, spah
me! an' gin me de use uv dese weary, achin'
limbs foh jes a little while, an' I'll gib you a
dollah note an' praise you evahmo'ſ Gweat
God ob Shadrach, Meshach, an' Abednego,
spah dy servant now !”
“‘By dis time, de thaing's eyes wuz as big
as saucers, an' as red as fire. It tuck to
jumpin' fºom limb to limb ag’in an' sayin':
“Sunday night—Monday night—
Tuesday night—Wednesday night—
Thursday night—Friday night—
Saturday night, an’ Sunday night ag’in
An' po’ coon gits no res'!”
“‘An' down he comes—ka-plumpup ! right
in our vely midst! Away went de dogs, an’
away went Uncle Ephum after 'em, scream-
in’—“Do de bes' you kin fer yo' se’ves, chil-
lun, de ole man's treadin' ah!”
“‘Evah one uv us to'e out in a diffunt
92


6.bosts, (Jitches, and Boodoos
“S'I: ‘Hit's putty middlin' tough right
'long here. Is you huntin' trouble, honey?’
“‘Yes,’ sez he, an’ jes den a black cat
runs between me an' him, an' I knowed Iwuz
in duty boun’ to cahve dat man.
“S'I: ‘Peel yo' linen, an' look out fer
me!’ An' wid dat I cahves 'im—furious,
wide an' deep. “Any message you wants to
sen' to yo' fr’en's 2' I asked, ben'in' ovah
'im, is he wah breavin' his las'.
“‘Yes,’ he whispers, “tell 'em de hunderd-
ahm'd grizzly bah wuz too many foh me, but
'at I died game !’
“I sent de telegram to his mothah, an' paid
his fune'al 'spenses; but, sah, dat very night
I seed his ghose ! I got a silvah quahtah,
an' wo'e it in de toe uv ma shoe; but dat fel-
lah pestakates me sometime, now.”
The club manifested its delight, and Sandy,
arising from his presidential chair, remarked:
“Genamuns, I congratulates you on yo'
gweat progress; an' now, whilst we obscures
95


Cl)g Black 2 at Ølub
some good eatin's an’ red liquor, lemme con-
tribute, as ma paht ob de program, ma lates'
poem, called by de entitlement ob
GHOSES +
I
“Dey may be ghoses, er dey may be none;
I takes no chances on de thaing, ma se’f;
'Twon’t neber sho’ten no man’s life to run,
When somethin' 'nother’s skeert 'im mose to
deff.
II
“De white man's logic may be all-sufficin’
Foh white folks—in de day-time; but dey's
qu'ar
Thaings seen at night; ’n’ when ma wool’s
a-risin',
Dese feet o' mine is gwine to bu'n de a'rl
III
“Ain’t gwine to pestah wid no 'vestigation,
Ma business is to git away fºom dah
Fas' is I kin—towards ma destination—
De ghose ain't bo'n kin ketch me, nuther,
Sah!”
*By courtesy of Truth.
96


Gibosts, (Jitches, and 5Sodocs
“Doc, you's a pow'ful smaht man,” ob-
served Saskatchewan Jones, as the club
wended its way down to Billy Spooks's
saloon.


CHAPTER VII
Love and jumor Illixed
At the opening of the next meeting, the
following letter was read by the secretary:
“CHICAGO, ILL.
“SANDY JENKINs, Esq.,
“President Black Cat Club.
“DEAR SIR.—The receipt of your letter and
the precious offering ($20) it contained melted
me to tears! God bless you! God bless you, my
dear young man! Oh, that your fine genius and
great power over men could be used for the up-
building of the Master's kingdom! We are still
carrying on our revivals, and our whole congre-
gation is nightly praying for the conversion of
you and your excellent young men. Our finances
are weak; but we are doing a wonderful work
for the Lord. Oh, may you give yourselves un-
reservedly to Him! We again invite you to the
mourners' bench, and, later on, shall be glad to
98


Love and 5umor Illixed
have your club render one of its splendid pro-
grams here some evening, for the benefit of the
church. Give ear unto the call of the Lord!
Oh, how we love your souls!
“Hopefully yours,
* “(Rev.) Jehosaphat JoHNSING THIRDLY.”
“Ain’t dat a pow'ful good man?” re-
marked Saskatchewan Jones. “I wish I
could be good lak dat.”
“Don’ ole Jones make you tired, Doc?”
exclaimed Bad Bob Sampson.
“’Deed he do, Bob,” Sandy answered.
“Mr. Secretary,” he continued, “sen' dat
man o' God another twenty dollahs, an' tell
'im to kill de fatted ca'f, an' git dat sacra-
ment ready; 'ca'se we's all comin' up dah
soon. Sampson,” he continued, “I b'lebe I
'p'inted you privately, in durin' uv de week,
to tote Mesmerizer up on Ahmour avenue,
2 an' let 'im howl on de
do'-step uv dat high-
tone' cullud 'oman dat
99


Che Black Qat Ølub
'sulted dis club. Has you a repo’t to make
dis eb'nin'?”
“Yes, sah, Mr. President,” said Sampson,
coming forward.
“Genamuns, le's heah de repo’t,” said
Sandy, taking his seat.
“Mr. President, an' Genamuns,” Bad Bob
began: “Bein' 'pi'nted as a committee ob
one to look arter de mattah referred
32° to, I takes ole Mesmerizer under ma
ahm, an' ambulates up on Ahmour
avenue, 'tween Thirty-fourth an’
Thirty-fifth streets. Good Laud, de
shades I did meet! Ole shades an' young
shades, big fellers an’ little fellers, cross-eyed
Japs an’ mean-eyed Japs, religious dahkies
an' sinnah dahkies, dahk dahkies an’ light
dahkies—dahkies 'twel it wah dat dahk you
couldn't see a street lamp! Good Laud!
“I soon finds de house I wah lookin' foh—
a putty little cottage wid green blin's an’lace
curtains—an' I gibs ole Mesmerizer a pinch,

IOO


Love and 5umor Illixed
an' sets 'im on de front steps, an' hide ma
se'fan' wait.
“Ole cat runs 'roun’ in a circle, spittin'
fire, an' howlin' lak mad! Laud, whut a fuss
dat cat did make | Nea'ly made ma own
wool stan' up! Couldn't see a p'liceman no
whar, an' evah dahkey in de block fell down
on his knees an' prayed. An' dey's lots o'
eddicated, society shades up dah, too! But
dey wuz evah God's one uv 'em down on his
marrow-bones |
“Well, sah, 'bout de third yell ole Mes-
merizer made, de lady uv de house—a mighty
good-lookin' yallah 'oman—comes floatin' to
de do' in huh silks an' laces, skeert
to deff, an’ say to me:
“‘Do take that horrid cat away!
“S’I: “Whut fon 2 ' #.
“‘W'y, don' you see,' she says, “it’s
driving me perfectly frantic? I'm not
superstitious,” she say, “but I have a
perfect horror of cats!'

IOI


Cl)g Black (Zat Ølub
“S'I: ‘Take back whut you said 'bout
Sandy Jenkins' club?'
“‘Oh, yes,” she say, ‘quiet that dreadful
creature, an' come in 'till I write a note of
apology to your president.’
“I slips Mesmerizer under ma coat, an'
goes in. Laud dat place wuz out o' sight!
Broussels carpet, tager-skin rugs, oil paint-
in’s, pianer, an’ fine furniture 'tel you could-
n't res'!
De lady goes to a mahogany writin'-desk,
an’ dashes off dis note on perfumed paper
dat nea'ly knocks me down, when she han's
it to me:
“MR. JENKINs:
“DEAR SIR.—Since writing you my hasty let-
ter in which I spoke disparagingly of your club,
I have seen the matter in a different light. Pray
accept my sincere regrets.
“Yours respectfully,
“(Mrs.) CoRRINE WooDBy-JENKINs.
“P. S. How very lovely that we have the
same name. (Mrs.) C. W. J.”
IO2


“De lady goes to a mahogany writin'-desk an'
dashes off dis note.”

Io.3


Che Black 2at Ølub
The club went wild with delight.
“Sampson,” said Sandy, “you has done
yo’ duty fait'ful, an’ am 'titled to a drink
outen evah fellah's bottle in de club. Jes'
he'p yo' self. Yo' committee am honah'ble
dischahged.”
Bad Bob drew his razor, and rushed savage-
ly at Johnny Yellowshort, the secretary, who
was the smallest man in the room. Johnny,
with a lightning-like movement, slipped un-
ceremoniously under his official table, where
he lay moaning piteously that he was dead.
“Oh! I'm dead, I'm dead!—Bad Bob's
done cut me! Don' you see he's dohe cut
me open?” were his horrified exclamations.
“Got you hangin' on de ropes, has he?”
was Saskatchewan Jones' consoling remark.
“You calls yo' self a man, don' you?”
asked Roustabout Thompson, indignantly;
“den git up fom dah, an’ take yo' paht!—
Ain't nobody here goin' to he'p you. Dis
ain't no ca’f past'ah.'"
Iod


Love and 5umor Illixed
“Han' ovah yo' bottle ! han' ovah yo' bot-
tle l—han' ovah yo' bottle, ole genamuns!
Han' dat bottle here!” cried Bad Bob,
brandishing his razor menacingly.
Then he plunged ferociously under the
table, grabbed the trembling little secretary,
and the two rolled over and over about the
floor, struggling desperately for the posses-
sion of the well-filled flask.
Bad Bob finally triumphed.
Draining the bottle, he remarked: “Good
Laud, Johnny, dat's fine whisky! Notion to
beat you foh not givin' it to me when I fust
ast you foh it.”
A rap at the door, however, prevented
further hostilities.
Bad Bob, as sergeant-at-arms, answered the
SummonS.
Opening the door cautiously, and peering
anxiously into the dark hallway, Bob de-
manded :
“Who 'tis P’’
IoS


CI)& Black Wat Ølub
Directly before him, a voice at the top of
a white shirt-front, white apron, and linen
jacket, and beneath and between two blink-
ing balls of chalk, replied:
“Me.”
“Me who ” inquired Bob, growing bolder.
I “can’t see nothin'. I don' know whether
you're a libbin’ niggah er a minstrel's ghose.
Who is you, any way?”
“Chahcoal Jim, Spookses po'tah,” came
the reply. “Spooks sen's yo' club dis gavel,
wid his compliments.”
The gift was graciously accepted by the
president of the club, and, after several
speeches had been made in honor of the
donor, the following letter was read by the
secretary:
“TERRE HAUTE, IND.
“My DEAR MR. JENKINs.—Your precious
little love of a letter was just received this very
morning, and oh! I’m so glad to hear from you!
I'm answering you right here in school—I can't
wait ’till I get home, but my lessons can, I had
> Iod


CI)6. Black (Zat Ølub
“Doc,” observed Saskatchewan Jones,
“you's done got 'at gal to lubbin' you.”
The poet laughed and winked.
“Hit's not so hahd to make a 'oman lub
you,” said Bad Bob gravely; “but gittin'
huh to quit am a 'nothah mattah. Bettah
mine out, Sandy!” -
“'Ten' to yo’ own business!” cried the
poet.
Then the club feasted and adjourned.

Io8


CHAPTER VIII
Jipplying the Øbicago Golden Rule
“Prof. Johnsing,” said Sandy at the next
meeting, “I thainks it 'ud be right intertain-
in', to-night, to hab you tell us some o' yo'
spicies' experiences in de application ob de
Chicago Golden Rule—“Do de other feller,
befo' he do you.’ P'fessor, will you please
to favor de club?”
“Wid pleasure, Mr. President, wid pleas-
ure,” remarked the genial Johnson, coming
forward.
“Mr. President, an' genamuns,” he
began, with a polite bow, “lemme tell
you how I done up a Dimocrat alderman:
“Fus' an' fo' mus', I want to say dat I
ain't no Dimocrat / I'm a good a 'Publican


Io9
2-


Che Black Wat Ølub
as airy ge’mman in de house—’specially in
national politics. 'Co'se, when it comes to
municipal affairs, I favahs de Dimocrats;
'ca'se dey'll let evahthaing run wide open,
an' po' cullud folks gits a chance to earn a
dollah to buy po’k chops wid.” (Applause
and cries of: “Dat's right, 'Fessah / ")
The speaker bowed courteously, and con-
tinued: “Let de Dimocrats git in, an' dey
opens up evahthaing, an' hunduds o' 'spec-
table cullud people kin git hones' wo'k to do,
as po'tahs, cooks, an' waiters, in de gamblin'
houses an' saloons. An' den dey kin provide
fer dey famblies, an’ donate money to de
chu'ch. An' nobody don' hab to gamble
'lessun he want to ! De gamblahs don' stan'
outside wid hog hooks, pullin' people in
Now, let de ’Publicans git control uv de city
gov'ament, an' thaings shets down tighter'n a
retired glue factory. An' dahkies has to lib
on livah 'n' co’n meal—an' don' git a drink
o' liquor once a mont'''' (“Cries of: Ain't
II IO


Jipplying the Øbicago Golden Rule
it so f") “Jes' let de ’Publicans git in an'
stop gamblin', an' whut does de gambler do?
—Gits 'im a san'bag, an' goes to hol'in' up
Christ'uns ! Dat's whut he does I Dat chap
won't wo'k!—hit's 'gi'nst his principles.
He'll resk his life to git a dollah druther'n to
wo'k. An' when he gits it, he'll spen’ it lak
a prince, while a hones' man’ll go to law wid
you 'bout a penny. But comin' down to
natchul facks, I hates a Dimocrat wo'se'n I
hates a snake!” (Cries of: “Dat's right,
too / ") “I’m a 'Publican f 'Publican bred
an' 'Publican bo'n'—'Publican clean th'u'l-
'speck to lib an' die a 'Publican 1 Ma father
wuz a 'Publican Ma mammy wuz a 'Publi-
can | Didn't de ’Publicans free us, an' gib
us our vote? An' whut have de Dimocrats
done? Nothin' but beat our fo'-parents,
lynch our people, an’ teach dey chillun to
holler “nigger / "
“I kin mighty nigh tell whut ticket a man
votes when I hear his kid a-yellin' dat!—
III


Che Black Wat Ølub
He's a ole Dimocrat / " (A voice: “Dat's a
fack / "):
“Nevah had no use fer a Dimocrat, no
way ! No diff'unce whut kine o' man he is,
either. Ef he's a good chu'ch membah an' a
perfect genamun, evah other way, I can't
stan' him no mo' den I could a dose o'
p'isen | Used to be a Dimocrat lived j'inin'
fahms wid ma ole daddy. Good a neighbah
as you evah seen! Sen’ us buttah-milk an'
gahden truck; gib us pigs to raise, an' come
an' he'p us mose any time. Wife wuz a
teachah in de cullud Sunday-school, too;
an' a pow'ful good 'oman in time o' sickness
er deff. An' dey had de nices' chillun
'roun'. But I didn't lak dem people 'ca'se
dey wuz Dimocrats |
“An' now dey's gittin' to be cullud Dimo-
crats! Whut is de worl’a-comin' to ? W’y,
dey's a dahky Dimocrat rooms whah I do, an’
evah time I looks at him, I feels lak cahvin'
'im 1 Anythaing makes me tiah'd is a niggah
II 2


JIpplying the Øbicago Golden Rule
Dimocrat!. Howsomevah, lemme tell you
'bout ma 'sperience wid de Dimocrat alder-
man :
“Toughes' winter I 'sperienced wuz right
after de Worl’s Fair. Lived on free lunch,
an' had to set up an' sleep in a cheer, behine
a saloon stove. Gweat Day! I lak to died
“Well, when spring comes, I makes up ma
mine to raise mase'f a stake outen polotics—
'ca'se I’d done swo'e off on hahd wo'k. Ain't
nothin' in it, no way! 'Sides, it don’ ‘gree
wid me. So I goes up, an' calls on a big ole
Dimocrat alderman dat wuz runnin' fer re-
election. 'N' I gits right chummy wid 'im,
an' tells 'im I’m de whole thaing 'mongst de
cullud voters in his wahd. S'I: “I’m bin
totin' de cullud vote 'roun’ in ma ves' pocket
so long I'm tiah’d uv it; but dey will shove
it on to me.’ S'I: “I’m a wiah-pullah an' a
hustlah fer yo' life / ' An' I takes ten o'n-
'ry levee dahkies up one day, an’ introduces
'em to 'im as head waiters an’ ministers uv
8 II 3


Cl)g Black ºat Ølub
de gospel. An' I makes a speech, an' jes'
goes ravin' crazy 'bout de dirty record uv de
'Publican candidate dat wuz opposin' 'im.
An' when I got th'u', I could see I had ma
man goin'.
“De fellah wuz havin' a putty hahd time
in his wahd, an' wuz willin' to gib up sump-
in’ to win. But he wuz smooth. He stahts
in to fine out who I wuz befo' he lets go any
coin. An' he takes to jollyin' me 'long.
Thainks I: ‘Ma fr’en', you may be a good
boat; but dis heah’s de revenue cuttah.'
“When he gits th'u' investigatin', I goes
up an’ bluffs 'im.
“S'I: ‘Mr. Alderman, I'm a 'spectable
cullud citizen, ma self! An' I wants you
strickly to understan' it!” S'I: “I’m lived
in dis wahd twenty-fo' years, an' I'm got a
clean record.’ S'I: ‘Ma 'fluence 'mounts to
sumpin', an' hit's worth any man's time an'
money to see it in dat light. But ef you
don' want de cullud vote, I ain't gwine to


II.4.


JIpplying the Øbicago Golden Rule
fo'ce it on to you; 'ca'ase you's 'bout 'sulted
me, anyway.’ An' I tu'ns ma back, an’ staht
out lak I'm mad as Sam Hill!
“Skeert 'at man good an' plenty! Calls
me back, he did, an’ say:
“Now, ma fren', you's misunderstood
me. I don' want you to go off wid de im-
pression dat I'm not de stanch fr’en' uv yo'
people, an' alive to dey intrusts. I'm always
liked de cullud race—went down South, an'
fought to free 'em—you know dey wuz some
Dimocrats on de Union side. W’y, ma
father wuz a abolitionis’, an' his house wuz a
station on de undergroun' railroad l’ Thainks
I: ‘Mr. Alderman, how you kin lie!'
“He tu’ns in an’ makes me out a check
foh $300, an’ say: “Do all you kin fer me;
an’ keep them head waitahs an' ministahs in
line, an’, ef I git elected, come an' see me.’
“I takes de check, an’ say: ‘Ma feelin's
bin mighty bad hu't; but I cain't go back on
a Christu'n genamun lak you.’ S'I: “Jes'
II 5


Che Black Wat Ølub
consider yo'se'f'lected You won ma heaht
when you tole me yo' father wuza abolition-
is’.” ”
The club enjoyed a hearty laugh, at the
conclusion of which Johnson resumed the
recital of his farcical adventures.
“Genamuns,” he said, “lemme tell you
how I wo'ked a cullud shahpah.
“Strollin' 'long de street one day, I meets
a swell-lookin' shade dat spots me foh a
greeny. I see whut he wuz up to, an’,
thainks I, I’ll hab some fun. So I stops, an'
goes to lookin' into Siegel an’ Cooper's win-
ders.
“Dahky comes bristlin' up, an' stan's gaz-
in’ into de winder, right 'side o' me. By-'n'-
by he say:
“‘’Scuse me, fr’en', but ain't yo' name
Sam Meaders—f'om Greencastle, Indiany?’
“S'I: ‘No, sah, I’m Primus Green, f'om
Kokomo.' S'I: ‘Son o' ole “Bill" Green,
used to lib right back o’ de Baptist chu'ch.”

116


JIpplying the Øbicago Golden Rule
“S'e: "Mr. Green, ah'm happy to fo'm
yo' 'quaintancel Ma name's Ketchum—
George Ketchum, sah. Ah resides at de
Pahmah House. Ah’m 'at famous cullud
millionaire you's heah'd about.” S'e: ‘Ah
owns a intrust in dis sto’e. An’ nea'ly all
de big sto’es 'roun' here's in debt to me.
An' de white folks all takes dey hats off to
me, too!" S'e: 'Ah'm a credit to our peo-
ple, ’f Ah do say it ma self!' S'e: ‘Ah
nevah does no wo'k, ma se’f. Ah wah jes'
passin' here, an' wah attracted by yo' intel-
ligent look.' S'e: “Whut might be yo'
business in de city, Br'er Green?'
“S'I: ‘Business an' pleasure mixed.’
S’I: ‘I ain't jes' exactly a paupah, ma se’f.”
An' I pulls a roll dat makes his eyes pop
out. But he keeps his nerve, an' plays his
paht lak a reg'lah Edwin Booth !
“Fell to laughin' fit to kill his self! S'e:
‘Dat ahn't no money, chile ! W’y, ah jes'
th’ow'd 'way a bigger roll 'n' dat—keep
*



117


Che Black ºat Ølub
f'om both'rin' wif it. But, 'co'sé you don'
know no bettah—you ain't to blame—you
not a millionaire, lak me.’ S'e: ‘You bet-
ter be keerful how you shows yo' money
'roun'. Somebody mout take it 'way fºom
you. Ah guess ah bettah take you under ma
perteckshun, in durin' uv yo' stay in de city.’
S’e: “We'll dine at de Pahmah House café
disebenin'. Meanwhile, we'll visit de Bo'd
#o' Trade (uv which ah'm a head membah), see
Lincoln Pahk (whut ah'm a directah uv), an’
take in de matinee dis aftahnoon.’ S'e:
|“You in good comp'ny, now.' S'e: “Some
sfolks falls among thieves when dey comes to
de city; but you lucky—you's met a good
Samaritan.” S'e: ‘Ah wants you to tell de
folks how ah treated you, when you gits back
to Kokomo. Tut, tut,' sez he, glancin' back
ovah his shouldah, “’at new man at Siegel
an’ Coopah's don' dress dat windah up to
suit me / Ah’ll hab to hab 'im dischahged.”
S’e: ‘Ah 'membah when ole man Leitah

I 18


Jipplying the Øbicago Golden Rule
borred de money f'om me to put dat buildin'
up.' S'e: ‘Him an' me jes' rents it to
Siegel an’ Coopah's. 'N' ah'm got a mo'-
gage on dey stock, besides. Dem folks
couldn't stay in 'at-place, ’f ah wa'n't so
easy on 'em—lak cullud folks allus is.’
Thainks I: “Ole fellah, you won't do.”
“Coon tuck me ovah to de Bo'd o' Trade, zºº
whah white folks wuz a-howlin', lak canni."
bals in de wiles o' Affirky!
“S” I: ‘Whut's de mattah wid dem men 2 '
“S'e: “Dem men's worryin' ovah gw-e-a-t
social problems Dem men's studyin' foh
yo' good when you's asleep. An' evah time
dey tu'ns a thought ovah, hit's wo'f a million
dollahs mo'. Dem men makes an' loses a
fortune evah mo'nin' 'fo' breakfas'—jes' to
raise a appetite. An' dey don' mine han'in'
you a dollah. Ain't nothin' sho’t about
'em! An, when dey dies, dey lebes a mil-
lion dollahs to some institution, whah smaht
young men, lak you, kin git dey brains culti-

II9


Che Black 2at Ølub
vated. 'At's de kine o' men dey is 'At's
right whah ah got ma staht—wuz right offen
dem men | 'Co'se all uvus millionaires acks
a little funny sometimes. W’y, young man,
you'd thaink ah wuz crazy—sometimes—'f
you's to see me when one uv dem gweat mil-
lionaire thoughts stracks me! Ah acks jes' .
lak dem fellahs down dah.”
“Fellah paid ma way out to de pahk,
bought ma lunch, an’ took me to de matinee.
An' all dis time I ain't gib up a cent. Den he
begins to talk 'bout sellin' me some railroad
stock, 'n' I knowed it wuz time to shake 'im.
So I 'scuses mase'f, 'n' steps out de do', 'n',
fer all knows, 'at man's waitin' foh me yit!”
The club took another laughing spell, and
then Sandy read a poem called
“DE RABBIT'S FOOT” +
I
“Foun' dis rabbit's foot, you see,
Uddah day, fuss thaing I knowed—
* By courtesy of Truth.
I2O


Jipplying the Øbicago Golden Rule
Rabbit shuck it off foh me,
’S he run’d across de road;
Change' ma luck right dah an’ den!
Evah foe become ma fr’en’ſ
No use talkin', gen’l’men,
Virtu' in dis foot hab growed |
II
“White folks 'ten's lak dey don’ b'l’ebe
Rabbit's foot am ha’f so fine;
But I's snigglin’ in ma sle’be,
At de weakness ob dey mine.
Listen whlut dis foot hab done:
Made me an’ Matildy one!—
Gweates’ blessin' 'neaf de sun 1–
Rabbit's foot am right in line!
III
“Rub it th’ee times 'cross ma face—
Hol’ it so, in ma lef’ han’—
Put it back into its place—
Make a wish, an’ own de lan’ſ
Take de hoss shoe fºom de do?!
Let de fo'-leaf clovah go!—
Nevah need 'em any mo',
'Ca'se dis rabbit's foot am gran’l”
I2 I


Che Black 2at Ølub
Compliments were showered upon the
speakers of the evening until the club ad-
journed.
Yº-E=


I22


Che Black Wat Ølub
wuz a slavel 'At's whut I ain’t l” cried
Sandy, his voice trembling with emotion, and
his eyes over-running with tears. “When I
thaink uv how she toiled an' sabed, an' wept
an' prayed, night an’ day—an' allus trusted
in de Laud, an’ sung sitch good ole hymns
—'an' nevah done nobody no hahm, all I'm
'shame' uv is 'at I ain't good lakhuh–ain't
fitten foh to soil huh precious memory wid
de wo'ds uv ma mouf.
“Is dey anybody here dat don’ lub his
mother, an' wouldn't own huh beca'se she wuz
a slave?” (Profound silence in the room.)
“No, genamuns,” Sandy continued, “de
high-tone' dahkies dat hab forgot dey moth-
ers, an' is tryin' to prove dey ain't got no
slave blood in 'em, is all a sick'nin' mess o'
fools An' to-night, I propose 'at dis club
shell put its se’f on reco'd by tellin' a few
tales on de hume'us side o' slav'ry. I wants
to heah fºom Mr. Brighteyes, Mr. Thompson,
an' Slippery Simon.”
I24


Cales of Slavery Days
Sandy sat down amid hearty applause, and
Simon took the floor. A broad grin spread
over his greasy countenance, and he paused
to indulge in a few half-smothered chuckles
before beginning his discourse.
“Mr. President an’ fellah genamuns,” he
began, “dis bein’ ma fuss 'pearance 'fo' de
club, ah match’ly feels somewhut imbar-
rassed—”
“Fine 'im fi' dollahs, Mr. President,” ex-
claimed Saskatchewan Jones; “idee uv a
dahky feelin' imbarassed!”
The club laughed.
“Don’ upterupt de genamun,” Sandy re-
marked. “Proceed, Mr. Simon.”
“Not bein’ prepah'd foh de ’casion,” con-
tinued Simon, “an' not bein’ a public
speakah—”
“Heah'd you makin' a pow'ful ahgament to
de judge, de other day, when you thought he
wuz goin' to sen' you to jail—an' de room
wuz full o' people, too!” broke in Jones.
I25 *


Che Black Wat Ølub
“Don’ upterupt de genamun / " cried
Sandy threateningly.
“An' bein’ natch’ly uv a retiahin' dis-
position,” continued Simon.
“Yeh, when you wingin' away f’om a hen-
roost!” Jones observed.
The club took another convulsion, in which
even the president joined. But he did not
forget his dignity—or authority.
“Fine ole Jones a dollah,” he said.
This had the desired effect. Jones shook
his fist at Simon, and remarked, “Don’ lak
y
'at fool, no how,” and then subsided into
silence.
“As ah wah 'bout to remahk,” continued
Simon, “not bein’ fully prepah'd to disgust
dis subjeck, to-night, ah feels a gweat deli-
cacy in venturin' to ahticulate upon de pre-
possessin' preposterousness ob de proposi-
tion proposed an' propounded by ouh potent
an' pow'ful president.” (Jones faints, and is
fined ten dollars by the club.) “But, reefin'



.# 126


_*-
Jº-
“slippery simon"


127


Cales of Slavery Days
good ole soul, he wuz, didn't keep no over-
seer—used to take his wife an' go off evah
summah, 'way up No'f, an' stay in New
Yo'k, Philadelphy, an' Baltimo' th'ee an' fo"
weeks at a time, 'n' lebe a ole trusty dahky
name' o' 'Lige in chahge o' de plantation.
“Dahkies used to hab a good time while
de white folks wuz gone.
Used to call in all de slabes
f'om de neighborin' plan-
tations, an' jes' eat an’ dance
an' frolic durin’ de whole
blessed time ole mahs wuz
away. An' ole 'Lige wuz de
ringleader in de devilment.
“Byme-by, Ole Massa 'gins to 's'picion
somethin', an’ makes up his mine to trap de
dahkies. Takes his wife, he does, an’ tells
'em he's goin' No'f, an' won't be back foh
th’ee weeks er mo', an' 'at dey mus' be good
an' look aftah thaings 'tel he come back.
But he only goes ovah to de nex’ plantation,

9 I 29


Cales of Slavery Days
'N' dahkies come fºom miles aroun’. Table
wuz spread in de big dinin'-room. Dahkies
had on all o' ole massa's fine Dresden chiny,
Irish linen, an' silvahwah, 'n' had done gone
down into de celah 'n' broke open ole missy's
perserves!—Ma Laud! Sitch scan’lus carry-
in’ on 1 Sitch eatin'an' drinkin' an’ bo's 'in’
is dey done! Dahkies had a dinnah uv.
fo' teen co’ses, an’ de chief topic uv de
convahsation wah ‘Massa' gone to Philli-
moyo'k.’
“Aftah suppah, dey lef’ de table stan'in',
an’ went in de pahlah to dance. Ole 'Lige
played de violin an' called off, an' evah now
an' den he'd hollah out: “‘Dance up, black
folks!—dey ain't no dangah'—ole massa
gone to Phillimoyo'k!—won't be back foh
th’ee weeks er mo' | Pl'asah nevah en’!' .
“Sitch a keekin' up an’ dancin' is dem
dahkies done!—pigeon-wing, ole Virginny
reel, sugah in de go'd, essence uv Virginny,
an' evah kine o' dance! Ole 'Lige gits
I31
º


Cl)& Black (2at Ølub
so happy he keeks ovah ole massa's fine
mahogany writin' desk, an’ hollah:
“‘Ole Massa' gone to Phillimoyo'k!’
“An' jes' den in comes a po'ole trashy-
lookin' white man an' 'oman, an' sets down
—'way in de fur co’nah.
“’Lige's wife looks at 'em, an’ she gits
skeert; an' goes up to huh husban’ an’ say—
‘Lookee hyah, ole man, ah b'lebes dat's ole
mahs an’ ole miss' ' '
“Ole man wuz considahble undah liquor
by dat time. S'e: ‘Oh, go 'way, ole 'oman,
you talk lak a fool! Ole Massa’ gone to
Phillimoyo'k!’
“Ole 'oman grabs 'im by de ahm, an’ say:
‘Ole mane, dat look lak massa', ack lak
massa, talk lak massa—b’lebe ma soul 'tis
*
-
massa!'
“Ole man shoves huh one side, an’ say:
‘Take keer, ole 'oman, lemme git at dem
white trash!'
“An' he grabs his cane an' stahts foh 'em,
I 32
*


Cales of Slavery Days
knockin' ovah cheers an’ li'l niggahs is he
went, an' yellin'—‘Ole massa’ gone to Phil-
limoyo'k!’
“An' jes' is he raise' his cane to strack,
he looks—an' 'fo' God, it ºvug ole massa /
“Ole dahky falls down an’ rolls, an’ groans
an' whimpahs: “Oh, please, good massa, don'
kill me, don’ kill me!—an' don’ sell me
down de ribber—an' ah'll be de bes’ ole
brack dog you evah see!'
“An' by dat time, all de res' o' de dahkies
wuz out o' do's, an’ wingin' wid de angels!
“White man looks at de ole dahky lak his
feelins wuz hu't. “Elijah,” he say, ‘ain't
dis a putty howdy-do? Cain't you treat me
well is ah treats you? Git up fo'm dah, you
impadent scoun'el, an' gib an account o' yo'
Se’f l’.
“”Lige gits up an' tells 'im he's bin ovah-
pow’d by de balance uv de slabes, an’ fo'ced
to gib 'em a banquet.
“His mastah hits 'im a few cracks wid his
I33


Cl)g Black 2 at Ølub
ridin' whip, an' 'at wuz all he evah done to
'im.
“Nex’ mo'nin' he gibs 'em all a lecture,
an' puts 'em on ha'f rashuns foh a week.”
Simon sat down, amid the laughter of the
club, and then Roustabout Thompson told a
story.
“Wuz a ole dahky libbed in Nawf Cah'-
liny,” he began, “’longed to a white man
name o' Cobbs. Ole Cobbs didn't own but
des one slave, an' he lak to wo'ked him to
deff Owned a li'l patch o' groun', an' tried
to rank wid de big-bugs. Allus called his
se'f ‘Mr. Cobbs.’ An' his dahky called his
se'f Mr. Cobbs, too—among de shades. Ole
white man used to put on lots o' style, an’
'ten' lak he wo'ked fi' hunderd han's on his
plantation. An' he used to make his one
slave tell strangahs all kines o' lies to prove
'at he owned mo' slaves den he could count.
“Dahky's name wuz Pompey; but dey
called 'im “Pomp" foh sho’t.

I 34


Che Black Qat Ølub
“w'y, Mr. Cobbs, he say, “lemme insist
upon you.’
“‘Well, seein' you insist upon me, I guess
I will.'
“‘Mr. Cobbs, he'p yo' self to chicken an'
liquor l—Don’ be back'ahds!—Laud knows
you welcome!’ An’
he kep 'up dis kine
o' talk 'tel he mighty
2 ºr T nigh eat up de whole
dinnah! Den he puts his feet up on de table,
an' say:
“‘Mr. Cobbs, hab a cigah—an' dah's de
New Yo'k papah foh you.’
“Pomp lights his cigah, an’ takes de papah
up—upside-down—couldn't read a wo'd in
it—an’ fell to laughin' lak a dahky when he
fust sees his name in print | S'e: “I see by
de papah dat whisky's gwine up in New
Yo'k. Well, she's gi'ne down in Nawf
Cah'liny Mr. Cobbs, hab some mo' lickah!
Lemme insist upon you!' An' he reaches
138


Cales of Slavery Days
foh de jimmy-john. An' jes' den in come
ole massa an’ de fambly, wid Sally's beau.
“‘Oh, yes!' say ole massa, “Mr. Cobbs,
lemme insist upon you!' An' he showers
down on Pomp wid his hickory cane!
“Dahky upsot de table, an’ broke all de
dishes, an’ lak to to'e off one side o' de
house, gittin' out o' dah! Nevah stopped
runnin' 'tel he got to Canady! I don' know
whut evah become o' ole Cobbs. 'Speck he
grieved his self to deff."
Then Brighteyes took his turn at tale-tell-
ing.
“Ma father used to tell a tale about
two slaves 'at went 'possum hunt-
in’— Sambo an' Gumbo. Gumbo
wuz a fine huntsman; but Sambo
wuz lazy an' triflin'. Still, some-
how, Gumbo wuz pow'ful found uv
him.
“One night dey went huntin'
together. To'ahds midnight Gumbo

I 39


Cales of Slavery Days
“Sambo 'ten's lak he's mighty soun’
asleep, an’ don' want to be disturbed.
“‘Whut 'possum?' he say.
“‘You know whut 'possum !’ sez Gumbo.
“Sambo raises up, an' rub his eyes, an’
take a good look at Gumbo, an’ say:
“‘W’y, man, yo' mouf all graby, fingahs
got fat all in 'tween 'em, bones am all
ovah you—I 'speck you eat dat 'possum, yo'-
self/ '
“Gumbo rubbed his han's ovah his face
an' look down at his self an’ say:
“‘Umph!' mouf all graby—fingahs am
all fat—an' de bones am all ovah me! Well,
I 'speck I eat dat 'possum. But, 'fo' God,
it lay de lightes' on ma stummick uv any
'possum I evah eat!’”
Brighteyes took his seat, and the club in-
dulged itself in a fresh spasm of laughter.
“Genamuns,” said Sandy, “we is sho'ly
movin' along de flowery paff uv knowl-
edge l’”
I 4 I


Cl)g Black 2 at Ølub
“Yes, Doc,” observed Saskatchewan Jones,
“we is sutin'y pickin' ouh brack feet up an’
puttin' 'em down!”

142


CHAPTER X
Sandy Uisits Cerre Baute
“SENSE our las’ meetin’,” said Sandy, “I
has been a long ways, an' had a heap o'
'sperience.
“I has been to Terre Haute—a mighty
putty town, 'way down in Indianny. Co'se,
some o’ dese days, it'll be a suburb o' Chica-
go, an’ de real estate men 'll git rich sellin'
lots down there. But 'at ain't whut I went
foh. Might thaink I went foh ma health.
But I didn't. I went foh de 'spress purpose
o' gittin' better 'quainted wid Miss Sibyll
Undahwood, de putty young lady 'at’s bin
favorin' me wid huh correspondence; an'
also to size up de town—see ef dey wuz any
amateur dudes down there 'at had a few hun-
I43


Sandy Uisits Cerre 5aute
“Oh, huh?” replied Sandy interroga-
tively, “I don’ keer a God's thaing about
huh. Mighty putty gal, tho'l-an' a perfeck
little lady! Hope she may live long, an’
prosper, an' at last git home to Heben, as de
ole folks say in class-meetin'. But, co’se,
is I say, she's a mighty nice girl. Make
some man a fine wife' "
“Now, lookee here, Doc,” observed Roust- -
about Thompson, “I’m a o-l-e dahky—a ole
dahky!—You heah me? I ain't seed all
dese hahd winters an’ chilly falls foh noth-
in’? I'll bet you ten dollars you cain't look
dis club in de eye an’ say you don’ inten’ to
marry dat gal. An', mo'ovah, I'll bet you'll
be spliced together inside o' six weeks' "
The club laughed, and Sandy proceeded
with the story of his trip.
“As I wah 'bout to say,” he went on, “I
stahted fºom Chicago foh Terre Haute las'
Saturday mo'nin'. But, hol’ on, I'm some-
what ahead uv ma story. "Fo' I lef’—I
IO I45


Cl)g Black 2 at Ølub
ment to tell you that—I received de follerin'
letter fºom Miss Undahwood.” (A cry from
Roustabout Thompson: “Umph / see 'im
smack his mouf ovah dat name /")
Sandy reads the letter:
“DEAR SANDY :
“KIND FRIEND.—Your sweet little love of a
letter was received this (Thursday) afternoon.
I hasten to answer at once. Oh, Sandy, I'm so
glad you are coming to visit Terre Haute next
week / I just couldn’t help telling people about
it, and everybody is fairly tiptoeing with ex-
pectancy to see you. Shall look for you on
Monday afternoon train, and have Papa and
Mama's permission to be excused from school in
order to meet you at the depot. So do not dis-
appoint me, but come. Please wear a pretty
flower in your coat lapel; also a diamond stud
in your shirt front, and a diamond ring, so that
I may know you. I shall wear a brown cloth
jacket, Tam o' Shanter cap with a black
feather in it, and a wine-colored Henrietta
dress. I shall carry a bunch of pink car-
nations in my hand, and will have
my big shepherd dog, ‘Trip,” by my


146


Sandy Uisits Cerre jaute
side. So I hope you'll know me. Oh, I shall
count the minutes until you come! Papa and
Mama join me in kindest regards, and wish
me to say that you must consider yourself our
guest during your stay, which we trust will be a
long and pleasant one. -
“Your sincere friend,
“SIBYLL.”
“P. S. Don't fail to come on Monday.—S. U.”
“Co'se, genamuns, after gittin' a letter lak
dat, I gits right up an' goes to packin' ma
satchel an' ma two big telescopes.
Puts in six suits o' clothes—so's I
could change up evah day—six
shirts, a dozen collahs, thirty-six
cravats, a bottle, o' rose watah, an’
some “Jockey club. Co'se I had all dese
kine o' smokin' jackets, skull caps, an' fo’,
five diff’unt kines o' hats. Gits ma razah
shahpened right keen—shave dry hairs wid
it! Takes ma loaded dice an' th’ee decks o'
mahked cahds. S'I: “I’ll bet dey'll know
dey's bin a Chicago man in dey little city

I47


Che Black Wat Ølub
when I decamps.” Den I puts out an' takes
de train Saturday mo'nin', 'stid o' waitin'
'tel Monday, 'ca'se—”
“’ Ca'se you couldn't wait no longer!”
yelled Roustabout Thompson. And the club
gave Sandy the laugh.
“Wid all due respeck foh yo' age, Mr.
Thompson,” said Sandy, half indignantly,
“I wish you wouldn't upterrupt me no mo';
'ca'se I'se liable to fohgit ma se’f, 'n' cahve
you. Den you'd say I'm a mean man.”
“Oh, shade, walk ovah !” shouted Thomp-
son, “you ain't de only win' sto'm evah
blowed 1 ''
Sandy laughed good-naturedly, and re-
marked: “We'll jes' hab to 'low foh ole
Thompson; he nevah had no sense. Now,
as I wah sayin', I went down on Saturday,
'ca'se I wanted to be there ovah Sunday;
so's I could visit de cullud chu'ches in ma
swell suit, an’ spen’ fo’, five days in de town
—'thout missin' a meetin' uv dis club. See
148


Sandy Uisits Cerre jaute
whah I wuz at?” (Cries of: “Doc, you’s
got a long head / " and “You’s honey, but de
bee don' know it !”)
“Yes she do, too !” said Roustabout
Thompson.
“I gits into town on a Saturday afternoon.
Hires a hack, an' drives up to de fines' hotel
in de place—me 'n' ma baggage 1 Tell me
no dahky nevah stopped in 'at house befo'.
Registers, I did, an' has ma boots blacked.
Den I lights ma cigar, an' strolls down de
street—big as Cuffeel An' I calls on de
editah uv a daily paper there, an' has it pub-
lished—piece 'bout half a column long, I
reckon—'at ‘Sandy Jenkins, de great cullud
leader an' poet, an' president uv de famous
Black Cat Club uv Chicago, is in de city,
stoppin' at sitch an' sitch a hotel.’ See?
Den I goes back to de hotel. An evahbody
on de street wuz a-gappin' at me. Heahd
somebody say, ‘Who is 'at cullud genamun ?
Is he de new Baptis' preachah 2 ' ' Naw,”
I49
-?" ~
cº


Che Black 2at Ølub
sez a guy, ‘’at's Joe Gans !” “No 'tain't!"
yells a kid, “’at's Sandy Jenkins, de Black
Cat king f’om Chicago! I seen it in de
afternoon paper! Better look out—he'll
cahve you in a minute!”
“Den I goes to de hotel.
“Nex’ mo'nin' I puts on de bes’ I had an'
goes ovah to call on Miss Undahwood.
“But hol’ on-I'm a little ahead uv ma
story! 'ca'se fust I’d done sent a messenger
ovah wid ma cahd an' some flowahs an’ bon-
bons foh Miss Sibyll, an' a perfumed note
presentin' ma compliments an’ requestin' de
pleasure uv huh company to chu'ch 'at mo'n-
in’. An' I got a favahble answer right
away.
“Ma carriage stopped in front uv a putty
white cottage wid green windah blin's, settin'
jes' a nice distance back fo'm de road, in de
midst uv a level, green lawn wid beautiful
flower beds an' fruit trees in it. All in front
uv de fence wuz tall, beautiful poplah trees,
I5o


Sandy Uisits Cerre Baute
an' behine de house wuz a fine grape arbor
wid swings an' hammocks in it.
“I tells de drivah to wait, an' goes up an’
rings de do' bell. A good-lookin', po’tly
lady, 'bout fo’ty-five, mighty pleasant, an’
putty nigh white, opened de do' an’ say:
‘Mr. Jenkins, I presume. Delighted to see
you! Walk right into de pahlah an' hab a
seat. Let me rest your thaings. I'm Mrs.
Undahwood. Ma daughtah'll be in pres-
ently. Ma husband's business keeps him
away 'till twelve o'clock to-day. So I will
try to entertain you 'till ma daughter comes.’
An' she treated me 'at nice I felt right
'shame o' ma self—didn't know whah to put
ma han's ner how to set ! But 'at pahlah's
whut took ma eye—evahthaing jes' lak it
ought to be l—pianah, Brussels cahpet, tiger
rugs, lace curtains, an’ all dem kine o' fix-
in’s Seem lak it took a year foh Miss
Sibyll to come in; but jes' is I
had 'bout give huh out, in floated
I 5 I


Che Black Wat Ølub
de sweetes’ li'l angel dis side o’ de Kingdom
o' Hebem
“She wah jes' about medium size, wid a
fo'm lak Venus, an' a complexion jes' dahk
'nuff to show she wuz cullud. Face all
smiles an’ dimples, an’ eyes as putty an'
cleah as two springs o' sof' watah! Huh
actions wah de natchul grace itse'f. An’
when she opened huh rosebud mouf an’
speak, it seem’ lak de silvah streams o'
Fairylan' had taken human voice. An' now
an' den de wahm blushes shot across huh
face f’om ear to eye, 'tel it seem’ lak de
ahtists uv Elflan' wah pencilin’ de dainty
cheek uv a fairy peach, er de rich blood in
huh veins wah indeavahin' to proclaim huh
^ N de daughter uv a thousan'
(*
*S. —I lak to swallered ma
noble kings Gweat Day!
necktie!—an' I nearly lost
*
ma reason, altogether!
“De ole lady 'scuse huh-


I 52


Che Black Wat Ølub
preached a gran’ sermon—but I don' 'mem-
bah none uv it! A man can't do evah thaing
at once, an' it's 'ginst ma principles to neg-
lect de ladies foh de sake o' 'ligion er any-
thaing else! 'F I can't git to Hebem by
bein’ agenamun, I don' want to go there.
“After meetin' Sibyll introduced me to a
lot o' huh fr’en's. An' you ought to seen
de great 'miration dey made ovah me.
Could heah 'em talkin' undah dey breff 'bout
ma diamon's an’ ma swell suit. An' while
I wuz chattin' wid some uv 'em, up steps ole
man Undahwood, his se’f—gweat, big, po'tly,
fine-lookin', In'jun-complexioned man, 'bout
fifty years ole. His wife makes me 'quainted
wid him, an' he invites me home to dinnah.
“On de way up, I fixes up evahthaing wid
him in regahds uv me an' Sibyll marryin'.
But, co’se, I had to talk up right smaht.
An' I don’ blame 'im none;
'ca'se it ain't no fun givin'
yo’ daughtah to a man, when

I54


Sandy Uisits Cerre Baute
you don’ know how he's goin’ to treat huh.
'Specially yo’ only chile.
“Dey set me a noble dinnah! An' aftah-
wahds dey shows me dey li'l home, an’ takes
me to see all de putty places an’ fine resi-
dences in de town. An 'dey would hab me
to take suppah wid 'em—you knows how
country people is. Den I sees Miss Sibyll to
de eb'nin' services an' back, an’ bids 'em all
de time o' night, an' stahts back to de hotel,
promisin' to see Sibyll Monday aftahnoon.
“On ma way back, I gits all tu'ned 'roun’
in de durn, li'l ole town, an’ runs onto a
lot o' youngsters gamblin' by candle light,
in a empty box cah.
“S'I: ‘Genamuns, is dey room foh one
mo’ in yo' game?’
“‘Always room l’ sez one uv 'em. An’
I foun' out he wuz de new ministah's son,
an' a membah uv de choir.
“J’ined de game, I did, an' when it broke
up, I wuz $402.63 winnah.
I55


Che Black Wat Ølub
“‘Come back to-morrer night, fr’en', sez
de preachah's boy, “an' me 'n' ma pals 'll
try to win some o' 'at money back f'om
you.'
“S'I: “I’m right along wid you, boy!”
“An' I goes back to de hotel an' sleeps
lak a baby 'tel ten de nex’ mo'nin'.
“Thursday mo'nin' I gits a note fom
Sibyll, sayin' 'at de ‘ Lotus Literary an'
Social Club,” uv which de preachah's son
wuz president, wuz goin' to tendah me a
gran’ reception an' banquet in a certain hall
'at night, an’ foh me sho' to come ovah foh
huh early.
“I spen's de whole day scrubbin' an’
dressin'—hahdly took time foh ma meals. I
reckon I tried on evah suit I had a dozen
times 'at day. But when I got fixed, I
looked out o' sight!
“Li'l' aftah dahk a cullud ban', in dandy
unifo'm, mahches down de street playin'
“Hail to de Chief '—dahkies blowin' dem
I56


Sandy Uisits Cerre jaute
ho'ns to a nevah hush! An' de big black
drum major twirlin' 'at stick plum up out o'
sight, an’ ketchin' it evah time !—an' pranc-
in’ lak he own’ de town. Done me good jes'
lookin' at 'im
“Drives ovah an’ takes Sibyll an' huh
mother to de hall. An' de cullud folks lak
to eat me up makin' ovah me! An' de
preachah's son wuz de bigges' gun there!
He wuz master uv ceremonies, an' de whole
splash! An' he sho' did treat me white /
An' he wuz jes' as modes' an’ dignified is
you please. Nevah would a thought he evah
seen a cahd. Had to pinch ma se’f to see
ef I wuz dreamin’—dem cullud folks
had on so much fine clothes —silks an'
satins an' stiff shirts, an' swallah-tail
coats an’ jewelry ! 'N' I wuz sutin'y
proud when I see 'em git up an’ read
an' sing an' play de pianah lak white
folks.
“Preachah's son sees 'at I had evah-

157


Sandy Uisits Cerre Baute
bid me good-by, an’ seem lak haf' de people
in de town had come to see me off. Takes
de train, I did, an' stan's on de back plat-
fo’m, wavin' good-by to ma fr’en's, an’, fur's
I could see, dez wuz all a-wavin' back to me.
But, 'peared lak to me, is de train rounded
de las' curve, I could see Sibyll wid huh
han’kerchief up to huh face, lak she wuz cry-
in’. An’ it made me feel right bad; an' I
goes in an' looks out o' de winder 'tel de
train got to Chicago.”
The club applauded vigorously at the con-
clusion of Sandy's remarks, enjoyed its usual
repast, and dispersed.


CHAPTER XI
“Dear to nature’s Beart”
WHEN the last of his devoted followers
had left his apartments, Sandy sat down and
indited a long letter to his fiancée, informing
her of his safe arrival, and concluding his
missive with a few impromptu lines of poetry
on the subject of love.
Sandy pondered over his letter for some
time, satisfied that he had written an immor-
tal classic. Then he folded his production
carefully, placed it in an envelope, directed
it in the best penmanship of which he was
capable, and sent it off to Terre Haute.
But he kept the transaction entirely to him-
self, and, altho he and his betrothed ex-
changed several endearing epistles during the
16o


“near to nature’s Beart”
weeks that followed, he kept the matter an
entire secret from his club, never afterward
speaking of her in any of his remarks before
the society.
“Las’ time we met,” he said at the next
meeting of the club, “I indeavored, in ma
weak way an' mannah, to intertain you wid
an’ account uv ma experience in Terre
Haute. Now, as tu'n about's fair play, I
wants you all to intertain me to-night by
tellin' 'bout de diffunt places you has visited.
Ain't none o' you but whut's traveled some,
an' I 'speck you's all seen some putty places
'at you’d lak to tell de club about.”
Saskatchewan Jones got to his feet.
Said he: “I’se bin nea’ly evahwhah in
God a-mighty's worl’ –'sept Europe, Asia,
Afriky, an' Souse Ameriky. Co'se I ain't
nevah bin to Australia ner New Zealan’; but
none o’ dem places don' 'mount to much.
Dey ain't in it wid de natchul ole United
States Co'se dey tell me dat down in de
/*
161


Che Black 2at Ølub
San'wich Islan's, jes' nawf uv de
Isthmus uv Tehuantepec.—between de
Dismal Swamp an’Kalamazoo—dey's
a tribe o' people called de “Boome-
rang Nation,’ livin’ right on de out
edge o’ de Desert o' Sahara. An’
dey tell me dem people ain't got but
one eye, an' 'at’s right above dey
nose. An 'dey ain't got but th’ee
teef in dey head, an’ dem's right in
a row—one behine de othah. Dey
has whut dey calls de “jolly toof'
an' de “crooked toof 'an' de “smok-
in’ toof.” An' de jolly toof sings an’
dances, an’ de smokin' toof smokes,
an' de crooked toof's mad an' grum-
blin’ all de time. Dey libs on snakes,
an' dey drinks a heap o' lickah! Dey all
got rubbah necks. Dey don’ b'lebe in no
God ner nothin' else. Dey don' know dey
own minds—an' dey won't let you tell 'em
An' dey tell me dem people don’

162


“Dear to nature’s Beart”
do nothin' but peek into Chiny, tryin' to
locate de Klondike. But I don' 'speck dey'd
be in it in a cahvin’ match wid de Black Cat
Club.”
“Say, Jones,” exclaimed Roustabout
Thompson, in disgust, “whut kine o' lickah
you bin drinkin' lately? I’m bin all ovah de
natchul universe, an' de ain't no sitch a peo-
ple no whah!”
The club laughed, and Jones continued:
“Speakin' uv putty places, I don' reckon
dey's anythaing beats de sho's uv Lake Su-
perior. I seen it when I sailed on de ole
steamah “Peerless.’
“'Tain't nothin’ loud, lak N'agry Falls,
whah you natch’ly gits so nervous 'at you
wants to kill yo' self. An' dey ain't no
b'ilin' mud-holes dah, lak dey is in Yaller-
stone Pahk. But jes' quiet, dreamy scenery,
an' fresh air, an’ all so pleasant 'at you feels
lak fohgivin' evah inamy you's got, as you
looks out ovah de blue lake watah at de putty
I63


Che Black Wat Ølub
hills an' hollers, layin' jes' as natchul an'
peaseful undah de open sky as dey wah de day
God made 'em. An' only a 'nuff little vil-
lages scattered 'long, here an' there, foh to
res' yo' eye on. Dey's heaps o' putty places
up dah; but de place 'at made de deepes'
impression on ma mine wuz de “Pictured
Rocks.’
“Greates' thaing I evah seen in all ma bo'n
days! Great, steep wall rises straight up an’
down out o' de lake—two hunderd feet or
mo'ſ Look lak God A'mighty made 'at
country foh his own private pahk, an' den
leaned up ag'in' 'at wall an' went to dwarin'
pictures uv his thoughts! W’y, you could
see woods, an' flowers, an’ lan'scapes, cities,
mountains, castles, palaces, ruins, watahfalls,
streams, an' lakes, an’ rivahs—wid all kines
o' boats a-sailin' on 'em—an' even railroads
an' balloons, an' thaings whut de white folks
ain't discovered yit—all pictured on dem
rocks! I 'speck de Laud felt pleased wid
164


“Dear to nature’s Beart”
his wo'k, too; an' le’bes it there foh folks to
look at; 'ca'se he ain't nevah rubbed it out.
I 'membah one time is we wuz passin' de
place, a young white lady an' huh lovah wuz
abo'd, an' dey lak to used up all Webster's
dictionary, talkin' 'bout dem rocks! An' I
heahd huh make de remahk: “Well sang de
poet Whittier,
“Alof’ on sky an’ mountain wall,
Is God’s great pictahs hung.”.”
“An’s'I: ‘Lady, you jes' took dem
wo'ds outen ma mouf l' An' huh an'
huh fellah laughed fit to kill 'emselves,
an' flung me a quahtah.
“Us boys used to hab some happy times
on 'at boat. Used to go on hurricane deck,
an' set an' sing plantation songs on moon-
light nights, an’ de passengers 'ud gibus all
kines o' money. I'se had some happy days,
an' seen some putty sights; but de putties'
place I evah seen wuz dem ah pictured
rocks.”
165


“near to nature’s jeart”
ain't bin nowhah—ain't seen nothin', tell
you!
“Ought to come an' go wid me to de City
uv Mexico—den you'd see sumpin'! Putty
a place as evah de sun shone on 1 Mexicans
treat you right, too ! Very fine people ! An'
dey got de onlies' city | Sets up on whut dey
calls a plauteau, surrounded by high moun-
tains. An' dem mountains is covered wid
snow all de year 'roun'. Dem Mexicans got
de fines' chu'ches in Ameriky. Dey calls
'em cathedrals. An' dey showed me ole
temples an' palaces whut de Spaniards foun’
full o' gol' an' silvah statues an' polished
mahble altars, whah de folks dey calls de
Aztecs used to wo'ship de sun. An' dey tell
me dem Aztecs made a lake fifty miles squah,
'n' brought watah into dey city by canals an'
aquaducts | W’y, you young people ain't seen
nothin'!
“I could take you to a islan' in de Pacific
ocean whah de debbil runs a pamahrama to
167


“near to nature’s Beart”
right to sighin'. I seed it—an' Ilak to sighed
ma se’f to deff! Sighed an' I sighed 'tell I
wuz mose beside ma se’f, an' a man had to
stan' beside me sideways, an' hol’ ma sides to
keep ma soul inside o' me. Folks thought
it wuz a side show ! De doctahs helt a big
side consultation ovah me, an’ decided 'at
ma conglomeration wuz side-tracked. An'
dey made me eat de whole one side o' my
own gizahd An' when I got ma se’f right-
side-up, I foun' I wuz a side issue ! You
young people gives me de sideache!
“I’ve visited Europe, Asia, Afriky, Aus-
tralia, an’ de Wes' Indies—bin in evah im-
po'tant city in de British Isles. I’m seen de
Queen o' Englan'—bin in Wes'minstah Ab-
bey, an' I's prayed in John Wesley's ole
chu'ch.” [A voice: “You bettah go back an'
pray ag’in 1"] “An' I've stood on de banks
o' de Ayr, whah Bu'ns an' Highlan' Mary
plighted dey troth. 'N' I tell you up in
Scotlan’ dey 'pears to thaink a heap o' dat
* * * *-


Che Black 2at Ølub
ah Bu’ns. Now, Bu’ns wuz a po’ poet, an’
had to wo'k foh a livin'; but dey tell me he
written thaings 'at can't be beat—even at de
present day. Had a mouty tendah haht in
'im, an' dey say he wa'n't above takin' a so-
cial glass wid nobody. I seen his grave an'
de monument dey raised to 'im in Edinburgh.
Co'se I nevah knowed Bu'ns ner any uv his
people; but dey gibs 'im a mouty good reco'd
'n' I 'speck he wuz much uv a genamun.
You young niggahs is ign'ant foh true!
“W'y, I've clum de Alps, an' sailed up de
Rhine. I’se seen Lake Constance an' de
beautiful blue Danube—bin in de Holy Lan',
an' seen de tomb o' Chrise, de Rivah Jordan,
an’ de Sea o' Galilee. An’ I’m bin all ovah
dis country an' Canady; also Mexico, an' I
bin to China an’ Japan, an’ made nine voy-
ages to Souse Ameriky an' back. An' I bin
to Afriky, whah de bread-tree grows, whah
all you got to do when you feels lak eatin' a
batch o' biscuits is to shin up a tree an' pick
I 7o


Che Black Wat ſºlub
Rocks, ner Irelan', ner nothin’ else can't
tetch it! Lemme tell you how I come to go
there:
“Got a little sho’t one spring, I did, an’—
I studies up a scheme to make ma se’f some
quick money. Makes me a sort o' whirligig
thaing, an' fixes up wings to it, an' lets on
lak it's a flyin' machine. An' I gits a cut
made uv it, an' has some cahds struck off,
wid ma name on 'em, an' also a cut uv de
flyin' machine. An' I names ma self de
“Rev. Prof. Paul Silus Wesley Washington,
A.M., D.D., B.A., LL.D., de great Afro-
American inventor an' divine.’ An' 'at’s de
way I had it on de cahdl Goes up, I does,
an' calls on one o' de riches' white men in
town.
“Lemme tell you whut kine o' house he
libbed in :
“Great, big, double-breasted, brown-stone
front—reg'lah mansion' th'ee stories high,
an' mahble steps leadin' up to it. Bahn wuz


172


“Dear to nature’s Beart”
finah'n mose any house cullud people libs
in. All in front uv de house wuz putty
flower-beds an' green, grassy lawns, an' on
one side wuz a conservatory, full o' beautiful
flowers fºom all pahts o' de worl’. An' when-
evah dey opens de do’, de scent uv 'em
nea'ly knocks me down!
“Looked at 'at house, an’s’I: “Shell I
go in, er shell I not? Kin I enter 'at heab-
enly place, an’ libe an’ move an hab ma bein’
aftahwahds?' But I finally mahches up an’
rings de do'-bell.
“Out comes a servant dressed so fine 'at I
takes off ma hat to 'im, thainkin’ he wuz de
man o' de house. But I sees ma mistake
when I notices a silvah tray in his han’; an'
I takes out macahd, an' slaps it onto it, an'
say:
“‘Servant, take dis into Mr. So-an’-so.’
An' he shows me to a seat in de hallway'at
wuz good anuff foh God to set in 1 Den he
puts out foh de 'prietah.
I73


Che Black ºat Øitib
“Well, I set there—'fraid to move han’ er
foot—'ca'se evahwhah I looked, here wuz a
lion, 'n' there wuz a tiger era bear, er a wolf
er a great dragon. An' I couldn't tell
whether dey wuz libbin'er not / An' here
wuz a fountain plashin', an' yonder wuz a
putty little fish-pond wid fish a-swimmin' in
it. An' dey wuz music playin' evahwhahs,
an' singahs singin', an' fine oil paintin's uv
soldiers an' angels an' putty women an' beau-
tiful lan'scapes, an' one thaing a' 'nothah,
an' cahpets, an’ Tuhkish rugs, an' flowers, an'
fine furniture 'tel you couldn't res'! W’y, I
thought I wuz dreamin'!
“By’m-by, I looked, an' I sees de ole boss
man his self a-comin' 'way down de hall—look
lak he wuz a block off! An' he wah steppin'
lak he owned the univuss! An' evah step
he took, seem lak his feet sunk down ankle-
deep in dem velvet cahpets!
Gweat day! I lost ma speech
intirely! But I braced up,
I74


“Dear to nature’s jeart”
an' got up, an' stood up, an' looked 'im in de
face, as brazen as de debbill An' he comes
up wid macahd in his han’, an' looks me in
de face so straight 'at I wished I could tu'n
to a yeller dog.
“S’e: ‘This is the – ah—Rev. Prof.
Washington, I presume?’
“S'I: ‘Yes, sah—yes, sah!' An' I ups
an' tells 'im I'm invented a gweat air-ship,
an' would lak de bes' in de worl’ to git 'im
interested in it, as I wuz goin' to devote de
proceeds fºom it to ma chu'ch. An' I come
mighty nigh wo'kin' 'im foh five hundahd
dollars | Went to see 'im two, th’ee times,
an' had de date all set foh closin' up de deal;
but his cullud coachman got onto ma racket,
an’ went an' gib de thaing away. 'At's whut
I say about cullud folks. Dey won't let one
'nothah prospah—no way you fix it! Nevah
got a cent outen all ma trouble ! But I seen
'at putty house! When I die, don' say I'm
gone to Heaben; but you jes' tel de folks 'at
I75


Che Black Wat Ølub
ma intranced soul is a-gambolin' aroun' in 'at
ah white man's residence.”
Then Sandy arose, and said: “Genamuns,
you is growin' bettah an' mo' bettah all de
time. I'se sutin'y proud uv you!”


Che Black Wat Ølub
a 'po'tah foh de mo'nin' papahs, a ole-time
minstrel, an' th'ee genamuns f’om de Boa'd
o' Trade—all waitin’ down-stairs—willin' to
give up ten dollahs apiece foh to heah dis
gweat debate. 'N' it 'pen's on yo' decision
whether we lets 'em in er no. Now, whut's
de pleasure uv de club?”
“Let 'em in l’” came the grand chorus, in
answer. It was a sound like an ocean's roar.
“De sergeant-at-ahms’ll please show de
genamuns up,” said Sandy.
Bad Bob donned his hat and coat, stepped
out of the back door, and returned a moment
later, followed by Spooks and his guests,
whom he seated near the front of the club-
room. Then Brighteyes, the treasurer, was
deputized to collect the admission fee from
the visitors, and the thing was done.
“Now, genamuns,” said Sandy, “I ap-
p'ints on de affirmative side o' de question
ouh chaplain, de Rev. Dahk Loudmouth, an'
Bad Bob Sampson. 'N' we'll hab on de neg-
178


Che Great Debate
ative side Mr. Saskatchewan Jones, de crank
on cahvin', an' K. C. Brighteyes. Each de-
bater will hab ten minutes to talk in. Let
de gweat debate proceed.” -
To say that the society was alive with ex-
pectancy would be putting it tamely. It was
actually excited. It simply held its breath
and sat in awed silence, awaiting with dread
anxiety the great event.
And what wonder?
It had visitors—white visitors'—and four
of what it considered the greatest dignitaries
that ever lent their august presence to an
auspicious occasion were to shed the light of
their luminous intellects upon a subject of
vital importance to the club, spurred on by a
temptation to “show off" before the guests.
The debate was spirited from start
to finish. The speakers were earnest,
humorous, and belligerent, and, at
times, almost eloquent; keeping the
audience either laughing or applaud-

I79


che Black Zat Zlub
ing throughout the discussion. They talked,
perspired, gestured, and fumed in indignant
fury, climaxed and anticlimaxed; and veered
from pathos to comedy—and vice versa—
with the ease and confidence of practised
OratorS.
^ The Rev. Mr. Loudmouth opened the de-
bate. He said:
“Mr. President, Feller Genamuns, an’ Vis-
itin' Fr'en's: Speakin' uv a good run bein’
bettah 'n a bad stan' remin's me uv how I
run in In'junap'lis, when I seed de ghose. I
'specks you 'membah me tellin' de story.
Well, dat's ma motto. I'd rather hab 'em
p'int to me an' say—‘Yon'ah he goes!' den
“Hyeah he lays.' I'd rather be a libbin' cow-
ard any day den a dead hero! A libbin'
coward kin eat an' drink. But whut kin de
dead hero do? He's too dead to hyeah 'em
eben praisin' uv 'im. I ain't wid’im Take
'im 'way fom me! Cain't use 'im! He
ain't got no sense, no how !
18o


Cl)e Black (Zat Ølub
to undahstan' 'at I don' back down foh 'at
man 'at weighs a ton l’”
“Mr. President,” spoke up Roustabout
Thompson, “I rise to a p'int o' o'dah!”
“Mr. President,” said Lightfoot Johnson,
“I rises on a question uv pussonal privilege.
Lemme set de genamuns to rights.”
“Mr. President!” thundered Roustabout
Thompson, “did you reckanize map’int f"
“I does, Mr. Thompson,” remarked Sandy
coolly; “state yo' p'int to de society. Evah-
body else set down.”
“Well, ma p'int's jes' dis: de genamun
ain't discussin' de subjeck.”
“Yo' p'int's well taken, Mr. Thompson.
Rev. Loudmouth, confine yo' se’f to de sub-
jeck.”
“Beg pahdon, Mr. President,” observed
Lightfoot Johnson, “but you ain't p'inted no
judges foh dis gweat occasion.”
“’At's right,” said Sandy. “I ap'ints
Billy Spooks, Professor Johnsing, an' Slip-
182


Che Great Debate
pery Simon, an’ de sergeant-at-ahms’ll please
to 'sco't 'em to front seats.”
As the sergeant-at-arms proceeded to
discharge his duty, Saskatchewan Jones
jumped upon a chair, and cried out, “Mr.
President!”
“I don' want to heah fom you, Mr. Jones,”
said Sandy quietly.
“Oh, yes, you must le’be me talk er I'll
take a hemorrhage 1" cried Jones.
“You’s done gone 'p'inted 'at
good-foh-nothin' Simon, 'n' I
know he won't gimme no show !”
“Cain't he'p it,” replied Sandy, “it’s done
an' ovah now.”
“Well, ºf he 'cides 'g'inse me, I'll cahve
'im 1" exclaimed Jones excitedly.
“Oh! 'at's foh you an' him to settle,”
replied the president. “Mr. Loudmouth,
proceed wid yo' remahks.”
“Am de judges allowed to make a speech?”
inquired Simon, rising.
183


Che Black Wat Ølub
“No 1 no!” howled Jones and Thompson,
in disgust.
“De gen'mun kin speak foh two minutes,
ef Dr. Loudmouth'll gib 'way to him,” ob-
served the president. “I thainks he ought
to be 'lowed to set his se’f right.”
“Laud a-mussy on me!” cried Jones.
“Genamuns, Visitahs, an’ Mr. President,”
began Simon, with a grin, “not bein’ prepared
on de subjeck; an' dis bein’ only ma secon'
'pearance 'fo' de club; an' bein’ natchully
whut dey calls a modes' man, I knows you'll
'scuse me while I pauses to deliberate upon
de delightful defalcations ob de dells ob de
Wisconsin, an’ meandahs th’u’ de stony
stump-lan' ob ahguement—ma eye on de
mo'nin' stah; ma thu'sty tongue a-danglin’


184


Che Great Debate
hit say: “Honesty am de bes' policy.’ An'
speakin' o' policy, chillun, I cotch $50 on ‘3—
I 1–33' dis God-bressed mo'nin'.”
“Wuzn't dat luck / " exclaimed Roustabout
Thompson.
“An' de Bible say,” continued Loudmouth,
“Aht am long an’ time am movin’.”
An' hit don’ say nothin' 'bout courage.
Courage 'll nevah git you into de congrega-
tion o’ de righteous! An' I don' hab to
quote no Shakespere, ner any other kine o'
spear! Don' hab to mess wid no poetry’t all!
Don' hab to go outside o' de lids o' de Holy
Bible to prove a good run's better 'n' a bad
stan'! Look at de chillun o' Is'all Didn't
dey run outen de lan' o' Egypt? An' wuzn't
dat a good run ? An' look at de stan' ole
Pharaoh took when he follered 'em into de
Red Seal W'y, de fish to-day is a-wearin'
ole Pharaoh's wish-bone foh a luck-piece!
“I might go on, but de honable judges
2
187


Che Black Wat Ølub
has already made up dey onprejudiced mines
to gib me de debate. Ma Laud! I looks up
th’u’ de evahlas'in' vista uv Time, along de
milky way o' Heaben, whah de new wo'l's,
fresh fom de han’ o' God, am a-swahmin' lak
gol'en bees, an' I sees ten thous'an' white-
robed angels, hahpin' on dey gol'en hahps,
a-pattin' uv dey putty foots, an' a-singin',
“A good run's bettah 'n' a bad stan’l”
Jerusalem, ma happy home, shout, evahbody!
Evahbody git right happy!” And the Rev.
Loudmouth proceeded to execute sundry
apish gymnastics, just as Sandy called out:
“De genamun's time's up.”
“Thankeel” cried Loudmouth, capering
to his seat, “I’m ‘bout out o' win', anyway!”
^ Then Saskatchewan Jones had his innings.
“Genamuns,” he began, “I jes' wants to
tell you whut kine o' man 'at ole black
Loudmouth is 1" .
“P'int o' o'dah, Mr. President,” cried
I88


CI)6. Black (Zat Ølub
feet, and clamored for a hearing, and it
seemed that deadly war was imminent. The
police began to edge cautiously to the door;
but the Board of Trade men were holding
their sides with laughter, while the reporter
and the minstrel, in high feather, were busily
making hay while the sun shone—the one
taking rapid notes for his “story,” and the
other catching valuable points to be utilized
in his troupe. The poor, trembling evan-
gelist, unused to such scenes, and frightened
beyond measure, had early taken refuge be-
hind a barricade of chairs in an obscure cor-
ner of the room, where he cautiously watched
the proceedings, determined to get his
money's worth at all hazards. Nor was his
precaution unnecessary; for, altho no one
was seriously injured at this juncture of the
club's deliberations, chairs were hurled across
the room, tables were upset and split into
kindling-wood; and half a barrel of plaster
was shattered from the wall. But above all
I90


Che Great Debate
the infernal bedlam, Sandy's voice was heard,
ringing clear and imperative, until something
like order was at length obtained.
“Take keer; lemme set right close by de
do’,” observed the Rev. Loudmouth, “’ca'se
dey's gwine to be trouble here, 'n' I don'
want to be in it.”
Slippery Simon simply sat and grinned,
and the president ordered Jones to be less
personal in his remarks.
“All right, Mr. President,” replied Jones,
taking a fresh start, “’co'din' to ma way o'
thainkin', any ole stan's bettah'n no stan' at
all. W’y, a man 'at won't fight ain't no
kine o' man! Is de Bible say, he 'll let you
pull out his beard, an’ blow it in his face.
Now, I’m allus lookin' foh trouble, an' when
Igits th’u’ cahvin’ de dahk meat 'roun’ hyeah
dis eb'nin', an' steps back fom ole Loud-
mouth, an' puts up ma tools—”
“De genamun's time's up,” said Sandy.
“Mr. Brighteyes have de flo'.

I9 I


CD& Black Wat Ølub
“Jes' lemme finish whut I want to say!”
Jones insisted.
“Set down dah,” said Sandy firmly.
- Jones obeyed.
~7 Brighteyes came forward and said: “Gen-
amuns, we don't know whut a bad stan’ is.
Sometime we runs when we might o' stood
an' won; an' ag’in we fights when we might
o' made a better out at runnin'. A good
run has saved many a po’ feller. Den, ag'en,
whut often seems lak a bad stan’ may be
changed into a great victory, ef you don't git
skeered an' quit too quick. Look how Phil
Sheridan rid out fºom de town o’ Winchester,
an' snatched his greates' victory fºom whut
seemed lak a mighty bad defeat. An' whilst
that evahbody ain't Phil Sheridan, it's a great
deal owin' to de kine o' grit you's got jes'
whah you stan' in de worl’. You take a dog
'at won't neither bahk ner bite, an' evah-
body's allus keekin' at 'im. Take a 'nother
dog 'at's allus ragin' an’ bahkin'—no dif-
-- "
7~


Che Great Debate
f'unce ef he bite er no—an' people shows 'im
a heap o' respeck. See 'im tahin' up an’
down behine his master's fence, lak he's goin'
ravin' mad. But he's only gittin' in his
bluff. 'F you'd staht at
'im wid a club, he'd run fit
to kill his se’f. It's all a
mattah uv nerve in dis worl’.
“Look whut a bad stan'
de people took in de time
o’ de flood, when No'y made his success-
ful home run in de ahk. W'y, No'y
made de hit o' de season! An' yit none o'
de theater managers ner newspaper editors
ner book publishers uv his day wouldn't do
no business wid 'im prior to his great success
as a weather prophet. De museums wouldn't
even ingage 'im. An' aftahwahds, dey none
uv. 'em couldn't.
“Now, No'y wuz a col’-watah man. An’
aftah his cause had jes' swept de earf, whut
does he do but go an’git drunk An' while

13 I93


Cl)e Black (Zat Ølub
was but little affected. It was an old and very
common scene to him. He was interested
in the debate, and was anxious to hear
Sandy's poem, which he knew was soon to
follow.
~ “Now,” said Sandy, taking advantage of a
moment's tranquillity, while de judges is
pond'rin' ovah dey decision, I'll read, by
special reques', ma poem, ‘De Cahvin'.'”
A welcome silence ensued, and then
Sandy read his piece.
Great applause followed the reading of the
poem. -
“Say, my young friend, you've got the
making of a fine man in you,” observed one
of the Board of Trade men. “You ought to
develop into a leader among your people. I
should like to see you after the meeting
ends.”
“All right, sah,” said Sandy, interested.
“Doc,” said Roustabout Thompson, his
voice full of emotion, “you's gwine to git de
196


Che Great Debate
oppertunity uv yo' life—I kin feel it in ma
bones. Now, be a good boy, an’ mine whut
de gem'un tell you, an' you'll nevah regret
it. You too smaht a young man to be foolin'
yo’ time 'way lak you is. An', whutevah
happens, don' fergit yo' ole fr’en', Thomp-
son.”
“Did you evah know me to go back on a
fr’en'?” asked Sandy, with a touch of sad-
ness in his voice. “Well, den,” he con-
cluded, “truss me now—all uv you.”
“Doc's a gweat genamun l’ exclaimed the
little secretary seriously. “He’s bin father,
brother, fr’en', an' evahthing to me—I’d jes'
die fer 'im!”
“Yes, ef you couldn't fine no way to run,”
said Roustabout Thompson.
Everybody laughed.
“De judges is ready to han’ in dey deci-
sion,” Sandy announced.
“Mr. President,” said Simon, with a grin,
“ax'in' you to 'scuse magweat modesty—dis
I97


Che Black 2at Ølub
in tatters, and the crimson on his back show-
ing plainly that Saskatchewan's deadly razor
had several times gone home. In vain did
Sandy call for order; in vain he pounded his
desk; in vain did he and the rest of the club
endeavor to head off the flying combatants!
Even Bad Bob failed. Fear had given Simon
wings, and desperation, long pent up, had
maddened Saskatchewan. Around they swept
like a hurricane, smashing chairs and leaving
ruin in their wake—a wake like the trail of
enraged buffaloes.
“Good Laud! don' you see de man's
'a-cahvin’ me?” bawled Simon. “Seem lak
I cain't fine a do' ner winder no whah!”
Mercy came to his relief. Distinguishing
at last a window from the rest of the wall,
he plunged headforemost through it to the
sidewalk, twenty feet below, taking curtains,
window-frame, and shutters with him, and
landing in an insensible heap upon the pave-
ment. A moment later Jones lay beside him,
2OO


Che Great Debate
whither, he had been butted by Bad Bob
Sampson. Jones, too, was insensible. His
nose was bleeding and apparently broken,
and the blood was trickling slowly from his
mouth and ears. Both he and Simon were
conveyed to the hospital, where their wounds
were dressed.
Sandy turned the lights out on the re-
mainder of his followers, drove them all out,
and locked the door. Then he went down-
stairs to meet his new friend. When he
emerged from that conference, he had the
step and look of one whose life-horizon has
been broadened and glorified by glimpses of
a brighter dawn. He hunted up his secre-
tary, and together they visited the hospital
to look after their friends, and were rejoiced
to find them both, as Sandy expressed it, “a
good deal mo’ skeert den hu't.”
The next morning a newspaper printed a
three-column “scoop” on the “Horrible Mid-
night Murder at the Black Cat Club.”
2OI


|-
*
CHAPTER XIII
Reconciliations, Reflections, Remem=
brances
WHEN the club held its next meeting, one
of its members was absent, and several who
were present bore varied marks in evidence
of their participation in the eventful debate.
Simon was still in the hospital; but Jones,
who was present, informed the club that his
victim was nearly well. Jones's nose was
liberally decorated with court-plaster, and
his right arm, which was badly bruised by
his fall, was still in a sling. Simon, he said,
had received several gashes in the back, and
had severely wrenched his shoulder when he
jumped through the window; but he was
2O2


Reconciliations and Remembrances
doing as well as could be expected, and they
had “made up friends” while together in
the hospital, having occupied adjoining cots.
Everybody expected trouble between Sas-
katchewan and Bad Bob, but Sandy took the
matter in hand at the very beginning of the
meeting, and succeeded in preventing hostil-
ities.
After a solemn scolding, in which he
called the club's attention to his broken fur-
niture and shattered walls, Sandy demanded
that all hands apologize to one another and
to him. And the apologies followed, profuse
and satisfactory.
“Now,” said Sandy, “I wants evah one uv
you to shake han's wid me, an' I wants you
all to shake han's wid one 'nothah.”
It was done, the repentant, grinning club-
men laughing and chatting merrily the while
at a ceremony which Thompson remarked
reminded him of “ole Free Mefodis doin’s.”
“Now,” said Sandy, at the conclusion of
2O3


Reconciliations and Remembrances
“Oh, I’m jes' tellin' you foh yo’ own good,
niggah!” thundered Thompson, “but you
don’ know good advice when you hears it.
W’y, you don' know nothin'! don'
| know yo' right han’ fom yo' lef’ſ
Don' know yo' head fom a holler
log ' You young niggahs gives
me de kidney complaint l” And
s: Thompson deposited his enor-
mous bulk in his seat, puffing
and perspiring with excitement,
angry with the world in general,
and the colored youth in partic-
ular.
“Needn't cloud up, ole niggah;
you cain't rain l’’ observed John-
son, casting a disdainful glance
in the direction of the elder man.
The whole club laughed, Thompson joining
in the merriment, despite his powerful effort
to look dangerous.
“Now,” said Sandy, rising as the storm of


209


Che Black Wat Ølub
laughter died away, “in order to git ouh fr’en'
Thompson back into good humor wid his self
an' evahbody, I'm goin' to ask 'im to tell de
club a story. Mr. Thompson, we is all ears.”
“No, you ain't, nuther,” retorted Thomp-
son, “you is all fools! ef I knows Webstah's
dickshunary !” And Thompson lay back in
his chair and laughed at his imagined wit
until his sides shook.
The whole club laughed, and Sandy, see-
ing that its feeling of good-fellowship had
been thoroughly restored, seized the opportu-
nity to declare the meeting at an end.

2 IO


Che Black 2at Ølub
mah. Went ovah into 'at paht dey calls “de
famous fruit belt," an’jes' tu'ned mase'f lose,
lak a colt in new pastah, out in de country,
'mungst de peach orchahds an' thaings.
“Peach orchahd's a mighty putty place to
stroll th'u' in de summah-time—cool breeze
an' pure air, blue sky, lubly scenery, sweet
fragrance, an' birds a-singin', an' peaches!
—'twell you cain't res'!
“I walks on lak a perfeck genamun, min'-
in’ ma own business. Ole peaches kep'
a-sassin'an' a-blushin'an' a-pokin' fun at me,
an' a-callin' me a cowahd—sump'in' I won't
take off fom no body—don' keer who "t is
So, by’me-by, I got mad. Yes, indeed, got
ma niggah up! An' I walks up to a big, ole
tree look’ lak it had a biggah load den it
could stan' up undah, an' I got mahan' on a
pu’ty, ripe peach whut bin jollyin' me 'long
mo' 'n any de res', an’s’I: “Come off fom
dah'n say what you said to me!' It mum-
bled sump'in' back at me, an’s’I: * Ma li'l’
212


* Good Gatin’s”
fr’en', I'm sorry to tell you I'm a cannibal.’
S’I: ‘’At's ma reg'lah business—'way I
makes ma libbin'.' S'I: ‘You’ll either
down meer I'll down you—right here in dis
very identical peach orchahd, dis day uv ouh
Laud an' Saveyah, Jesus Chrise!’ An' I
popped ma jaw down on it, an' oh! ma good
Laud a'mighty! so good it lak to to'e de
whole top o' my head off I opened ma
mouf, an' th'o'd back ma head, an' jes'
laughed an' took on lak I nevah had a God's
bit o' sense !
“Tase lak a mixture o' peaches an' cream,
vanilla ice cream, an' home-made poun' cake,
stirred into a loblolly wid yo' sweeth'aht's
fingah, an’ fed to you outen a gol'en spoon by
a angel, when you's dreamin'. Oh, Laud
how jucy an' meller an' sof'ſ W’y, artah de
Laud made peaches, he oughtn't done a
'nothah thaing but set 'round' an' congratulate
his self; 'ca'se I 'speck he wuz a thousan'
yeahs studyin' up 'at receep! Ripe peaches is
2 I 3 2-


Che Black Qat Ølub
'im down "mungst a passel o'dahkies, an' put
'em all to eatin' millun, you couldn't tell
f'om 'zaminin’ derines which wuz Riley's an’
which wuz de cullud folks'! Fine man, dat
Riley is. I made ma se’f 'quainted wid 'im
in Injunap'lis, an’ used to go up an' tetch 'im
almose any time—“for machu'ch'—dat wuz
ma ole racket. (Co'se I spent de money as I
pleased.) An' when I’d git broke, I go tetch
Riley ag’in. He wuz dead easy to wo'k—
gib 'im any ole song! Oh! I wuz strickly
in it, 'tel I went, lak a fool, an’sp'ilt mase'f
wid 'im. I 'speck while I’m at it, I bettah
tell you how I come to do it.
“Went to his house one day, I did (great,
big, square house made outen red brick—
stan's on Lockerby Street. I knows right
whah it is—bin dah mo' times den I got fin-
gers an' toes), an' I rung de do' bell, an’ sen's
in wo'd 'at I wants to see Riley on 'po'tant
business. Putty soon down he come fom
his study. S'I: ‘Bre'r Riley, does you
216


**Good (Eatin’s”
know milluns has gone up to fo’ty cents, an'
stilla-risin'?' S'e: ‘No, Reverent; ain't it
orful?' S'I: ‘Yes, an' I don't 'pose to pay
it!” S'e: “Whut you goin' to do? We mus'
hab milluns to eat!’
S’I: ‘Br'er Riley, dey's lots o' fahms
'roun' hyeah, an' on dem fahms dey's heaps
o' milluns; an' de fahmahs 'ud be willin' to
donate 'em to you mose any night you'll come
arter 'em — 'vidin' dey cain't ketch you.’
S’I: “I’m goin' out to try ma luck to-night,
an' I called 'roun’ to see 'f you'd go wid me.’
S'I: “Fo’ty cents foh a watah millun is a
outrage l'
“He went to mumblin' sump'in' 'bout ‘im-
propriety,’ ‘moral suasion,’ ‘character,” “set-
tin' high example,’ an' one thaing a'nother;
an’s’I: ‘You cain't eat dat!’ An' I see I’d
struck a tendah spot in 'im. S'e: “Well,
Reverent, call 'roun’ to-night 'bout ten
o'clock, ef de weathah's fair, an' I'll thaink
about it.’ S'e: ‘I'm wo'kin' on a piece o'
217


Cl)& Black Wat ſºlub
poetry now, 'n' I'm come to a place whah I
cain't fine a rhyme—dog ma melts 'f I kin l’”
S'I: ‘A li'l' fresh a'r 'ud do you good.' S'e:
‘Maybe 't would, Reverent.' An' I knowed
I had 'im. - -
“Went back dat eb'nin'—as God would
hab it—an’ Riley say: “Wait 'tel I git ma
hat.' An' off we put—down de street—
splittin' Injunap'lis wide open! Riley had
a so’t o' hop-light-lady step, an' I wuz a-doin'
de Mobile buck. Black cat tried to cross us,
an' we kicked de natu'l stuffin's outen 'im 1
An' common folks we walked right ovah—
same as dey wuz cobble-stones! Dey wuz
jes' a few stray people on de streets. Tell
you whut, we made a noble couple—Whit-
comb Riley an' de Rev'unt Loudmoufl
Moon wuz shinin' jes' right—jes' 'nuff foh
us to see an' not be seen; an' as we lef’ de
city, an’ struck de dirt road, ole Riley 'gun
* “Dog my melts” is an expression which occurs fre-
quently in the Hoosier dialect poems of Mr. Riley.—J. D.C.
218


**@ICSd (Eatin’s”
to feel de spurrit; an' reeled off yahns dat
would o' driv' de blues outen a bottle o' in-
digo. W’y, Riley knowed mo' 'bout 'at paht
o' de country 'n I did!
“Cah'd me out, he did, about fo' miles fºom
town, an' stopped right in front uv a big ole
fahm whah you could hyeah de milluns jes'
a-laughin' an’ a-talkin' an’ a-snigglin' in dey
sle'bes, lak dey wuz goin’ to buss open.
“‘Now,' sez Riley, ‘dis ole feller here
raises de bes' milluns in de State; but he
keeps a mean dog, an’ dey say he watches
•his patch o' nights wid a shotgun. I don' know
how true 'tis. Furder on, dey's a 'nother ole
fahmah has a patch, an' sleeps lak a hones'
citizen, an' don’ keep no dog; but dey say his
milluns ain't no 'count. Now, whut'll we do?’
“S'I: “We'll go whah dey's de bes' mil-
luns, an’ take de chances!' S'I: “I’m done
- walked too fur to back watah
now !' S'I: “I’m a ole han'
at dis business — foller me,
219


Cl)g Black (Zat ØItaly
an' you'll w'ah diamon’s.’ An’s’I: “L’es'
keep close together; so’s we won't take one
nother fur de man.’ S'e: ‘’Greed!' An'
ovah defence we clum—down on all fo's—an'
inter de millun-patch, thumpin' milluns an'
tearin’ vines foh who las' de longes'! But
we didn't eat none; 'ca'se we ca'lated to tote
'em home, an' put 'em on ice foh de nex’ day.
“Well, arter we'd bin in dah a while, an’
didn't see ner hyeah nothin', we got bol’; an'
raised up an’ went to walkin' 'roun’ dah, lak
we owned de place ('ca'se we wanted de
bes' milluns in de patch)—an' I swah we got.
los' fºom one 'nother. But we wuz dast to
holler. Made up' ma mine to tase a piece o'
millun, den fine Riley 'n' go home—already
had a sackful hid down 'side de railroad
track to tote home wid me. Went up to
a stump, I did, an' I brought a millun down
'cross it—‘bam!' An' de stump jumped
up an' tuck arter me! An' I thought I
hyeah'd a gun go off—“bud-du-ee!' S'I:
22O


** {{SSd. (Eatin’s”
‘Dah! bress God, de fahmah's comin'
| arter me!’ An' I spread ma wings
an' flew S'I: ‘Br'er Riley, do de
bes' you kin foh yo' self! De Bible
ſº say: “Fleef'om de wraff to come!”.'
/, An' by dat time I had done gone a
mile, an' had los' coat, shoes, an' hat.
I made foh one o' ma membahs’
houses, on de outskirts o' de town, an'
I fell in de do', an’s’I: ‘Come an' git me!'
An' I fainted plum' away.
“Ma membah tuck me in an' put me to
bed, an' nex’ mo'nin' he lent me a suit o' his
clothes to go home in—I'd done fixed up a
ghose story, an’ tole 'im. On ma way home,
I stopped at Riley's house—see how he
come out. An' dey tole me he wuz sick in
bed. “W'y, ain't you hyern it?’ sez dey.
An' dey showed me whah de papahs said
he'd bin hit in de head an' helt up an’ robbed )
S’I: ‘Ain’t dat a shame!—nice a man as
he is l’ An' I went in whah he wuz, an’s’I:




22 I


Che Black 2 at Ølub
“Go into a fust-class restaurant whah dey
has French cooks an' up-to-date English
waiters. Let a fine orchestra be playin' soft
strains o' fairy music fºom behine a bank o'
flowers. An' let 'em furnish me wid a good
vocal solo er two—sumpin' lively an' up wid
de times. An' I want you to keep all other
shades outen dah—wants to be de onlies'
deep brunette in de place. Den, han’ me
yo' bill o' fah an’ let me order de bes' in de
house.
“Den, ef you don' chahge me at least
fi' dollahs, I'll thaink I’m bin insulted.”
The club laughed, and Johnson sat down.
“Gimme quiet home eatin's,” spoke up
Bad Bob; “none o' yo' restaurants foh me.
You nevah knows whut dey's feedin' you.
I's woked in 'em ma self. Mo'n once I's
dropped a o'dah o' meat on de flo', an' picked
it up an' give it to de man. 'N' he'd eat it,
an' smack his lips, an' go an' pay foh it.
Tell me nothin' 'bout yo' restaurants I'll
226


** {{SSd Eatin’s”
take home cookin', evah time ! I'd be a
happy man to-night 'f I could jes' go back
to dat putty little wife an' home I had five
years ago—an' jes' me'n ma little wife set
down to a good meal o' po’k chops, hot bus-
cuit an' buttah, coffee, pickles, an' a little
pie—some o' 'at little 'oman's own cookin'
—'at 'ud satisfy me! But 'at's all past an’
gone now—can't nevah be no mo'ſ Estah's
dead. Po' li'l' Estah wid all dat col' groun’
on huh !” And Bad Bob buried his face in
his big, rough hands, and began to blubber.
“Oh, stop dat foolishness!” cried Simon,
in disgust. “Dis ain't no fun'all We's all
got people dead—whut diff'unce do it make?
Ain't you got to die, too?—leakin' 'roun’
here lak a wiah siftah! Take dat fuss away
f'om here !”
“’F you don' want to go back to dat hos-
pital, you bettah stop!” cried Bob.
“Oh, Bob, I wuz jes' meant to console
you,” replied Simon.
227


**@SSd (Eatin’s”
“'ca'se de debil's got a mo'gage on you
now !”
“Genamuns,” said Sandy, as he got upon
his feet, “is dey any one uv you kin play
notes?—dem thaings 'at looks lakli'1' black
boys hangin' ovah de fence?”
“Yes,” said Lightfoot Johnson, “I’m a
music 'fessah ! Don' you come here askin'
me kin I play notes I'm a musicianah by
tradeſ I jes' gits up on a pianer, an' walks
about, an' talks to de dead an' de libbin', an’
goes down an' tells you whut Heben 'n' hell's
lak—explo'es de fo' winds uv de earf, an’
climbs de stahs, an’ leads you back to de
Gahden o' Eden, an’ takes up ma residence
dah. Don' you come heah axkin' me kin I
play notes; but jes' say is dey anythaing 'bout
'em I don't undahstan', 'n' I'll tell you no.”
“I kin poun' out a few
co'ds, mase'f,” spoke up Sas-
katchewan.
“’At's good,” said Sandy,

9 229


** {{SSd Gatin’s”
III
“Evah single mouf'ul uv it
Makes me hollah out wid joy!
W’y, it's same az havin' 'ligion!
An' I capahs lak a boy;
Jes’ de same as any dahky
Dat wah fotch up in de Souf,
When he feels a sweeten 'tatah
Slowly meltin' in his mouf.
VI
“’Ca'se you see a-eatin’ uv it
Makes me thaink uv ma ole home—
'Way down yondah in ole Dixie,
Whah I deahly longs to roam
'Mongst de cotton-fields an’ flowahs,
Roun’ de ole home place once mo',
Happy, munchin' sweeten 'tatahs,
Is I did in days uv yo’.
V
“I kin see de little cabin
Whah our fambly libbed, an’ whah
Putty vines an’ mo'nin' glories
Shed dey fragrance on de a'h,

23.I


CI)& Black ſºat Ølub
Lemme hab ma sweeten 'tatahs,
Ca'se dey's good de whole yeah 'roun’ſ
- xi
“Whut would 'possum be widout 'em?—
Nothin’ whutsomevah, 't all!
Cook it widout sweeten 'tatah,
An' you’ll see how flat it fall!
Pie an” cake am common eatin’s—
An' ice cream am white folks' muss—
Ham an' cabbage, con-pone, nothin'
Hit's de spot lak'tatah does!
XII
“I lubs peaches, too—I’s eat 'em
Ripe an' fresh, right off de tree;—
Dey is juicy, dey is mellah,
Dey is sweet as sweet kin be—
An' dey's rosy, an’ dey's yellah—
Yit an' still dey nevah seem
Good as eatin’sweeten 'tatahs,
When I shets ma eyes an' dream.
XIII
“Evahthaing is 'dulterated
By de white folks, nowadays—
234


Cl)& Black Wat Ølub
At couldn’t cook a 'tatah right,
'At ah'd settle it wid me—
I’d go ma way, an’ she'd go hern;
Jes' you watch me now, an’ see!
xvi.
X “’Ca'se dey's heaps o' precious memories
Sweeten 'tatahs brings to me—
W’y, I nevah thainks about 'em
But ma mammy's face I see—
An' ma mammy sho'ly lubbed 'em,
An' ma little brothah Joe,
At died, craved foh 'em awful bad—
Jes' 'fo' he had to go.
XVII
“As his little eyes wah closin',
An' we stood aroun’ his bed,
While de sunset, th’u’ de windah,
Shed its glory 'roun’ his head,
Mammy drawed him to huh bosom,
Tendah, knowin' Death had won,
An' he whispahs—‘Please to wake me
When de sweeten 'tatah’s done.’
XVIII
“Does you wonder dat I lubs 'em,
Arter all you's heahd me tell?
236


JIt the Øburel)
Sandy's men had drilled faithfully all the
week, and when the night arrived, they met
their esteemed leader at their old head-
quarters, and, in a final rehearsal, satisfied
him of their ability and willingness to do
justice to the parts assigned them. At eight
o'clock they started for the church, arriving
there a 'half-hour later. They found the
church brilliantly lighted and already com-
fortably filled, with a long line of people
waiting outside for admission. Six police-
men kept the crowd moving in orderly pro-
cession to the main entrance of the church,
where a temporary ticket office had been
arranged.
The club entered from a side street, by a
rear door, and was conducted at once to the
pastor's study, where they waited until time
to begin, chatting pleasantly, the while, with
the pastor and a favored few of his officers
and flock. Meanwhile, the church was
rapidly filling with people of all colors,
239


Jit the Øburel)
the church, an octoroon, with girlish, yet reso-
lute, face that bespoke for its possessor great
possibilities — a magnificent creature with
Juno-like form and poise of head—presided
at an immense pipe-organ, flooding the
room with surges of tempestuous harmony.
Now and again she half paused to throw
a sisterly glance of recognition at some
acquaintance who had entered; then returned
her attention to her playing. She did not
cease until the loud burr of an electric bell
—a signal from the Rev. Thirdly—announced
the coming of the club. Then she swept
out with the dignity of an Oriental queen,
her fine form and complexion and her
black hair and eyes showing to advantage as
she crossed the stage and disappeared through
a side door leading to the pastor's study—
the same door by which the club entered, a
moment later.
The club was greeted with a deafening
cheer as it made its appearance, resplendent
24 I


Che Black Wat Ølub
in evening dress suits, snowy linen, diamonds,
and patent leather shoes. The club formed
a semicircle. Sandy sat in the middle, and
the black cat lay at his feet.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the Rev.
Thirdly, coming forward, “the talented
young men who have so kindly consented
to entertain us this evening, giving their
services as a donation to this church, have
honored your humble servant with the re-
quest that I act as master of ceremonies
during the rendition of their program to-
night. Brothers and sisters, I accept this
honor, and will try to perform the duties the
position devolves upon me to the best of
my ability. You know Shakespeare says:
“Some men are born great; some achieve
greatness, and some have greatness thrust
upon them.' Well, this signal greatness
which I bear to-night has been thrust upon
me... I did not seek it. Far be it from me
to seek earthly honors/ I am trying in my
242


Cl)g Black Qat Ølub
Quartet: Mr. Sampson baritone; Mr. Jen-
kins, tenor; Mr. Brighteyes, soprano; Mr.
Simon, basso profundo.”
The quartet sang. Oh, the indescri-
bably sweet music of the uncultured Negro
voice ' Who can tell of it? The room was
hushed with soft, melodious soughs—a flood-
tide o'er the soul—a harmony of peace—
a dream of pleasant sounds. Nature was
breathing out aeolian strains through her un-
conscious instruments It was a sound such
as groves make when the night winds whisper
through them, or which bells at vespers send
over flowery vales—such sounds as may have
floated over Eden's walls, at shut of day.
'Twas such a sound as sad waves make that
tell their grief to pebbles, as they kiss them
on the shore. 'Twas love and pain and
longing vocalized.
The song grew bold. It bound hearts in
its spell. It pictured scenes of home. It
brought back old-time friends and sweet-
246


Che Black 2 at Ølub
hearts long forgot. It told of hope and fear.
It talked of billowed wave, and sang of dis-
tant isles. It painted landscapes, told dreams
and tales of magic power. It was the secret
of all tender souls that ever lived and loved.
It was tranquil, deep, and full like a noble
river flowing between hills. It rang the
village bells; it set the hearths ablaze, and
made the flowers bloom. It was joyful. It
was triumphant and splendid. It was an
oration: it had argument; it had grandeur;
it had eloquence; it had sublimity; it had
reverence; it had beauty, romance, and play-
fulness, and pathos as tender and as touch-
ing as a lost child's cry. -
The sweet song died. But o'er all hearts
a solemn hush had fallen, as if through that
vast auditorium had rushed the eddy of a
wind-gust from the music of the spheres.
Souls had been strangely touched and drawn
together as if they were akin, and felt, for
the moment, the high destiny for which they

248


Jit the Øburch)
Then, just as the audience appeared to be
losing interest in the performance, he passed
the instrument behind his back, above his
head, and between his legs, without interrupt-
ing the tune or losing the time. A storm of
applause burst forth; but the player, little
noticing it, continued his unique feat. He
placed the bow in his mouth, and sawed upon
it with the fiddle, swung the instrument and
picked the strings; played on one string, two
strings, three strings, four strings, gave the
air with variations, and, in fact, got into
every conceivable position, and did almost
everything imaginable, except, as the Rev.
Thirdly expressed it, “put the fiddle down
and walk away from it,” without interrupting
the time or tune.
“Doc" exclaimed Saskatchewan Jones,
“I didn't know you could do nothin' lak dat!”
“Oh, dey's heaps o' thaings
you don’ know !” observed the
poet, “ef all you don't know
253


Cl)g Black Wat Ølub
wuz put into a book, I 'speck it 'ud have
a big sale.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” announced the
Rev. Thirdly, “we will now be entertained
by a black Irishman, Mr. R. Thompson, in
the comic recitation, “Jamie Butler and the
Owl.” And the brunette gentleman referred
to proceeded to belabor both audience and
atmosphere with a voice as knotty and un-
sympathetic as a shillalah, and with a system
of gesturing which would have been a revela-
tion to Delsarte. When he had finished his
gymnastics, the people cheered for pure re-
lief; but, mistaking it for a recall, Thomp-
son returned, and sang “Killarney,” to his
own immense satisfaction, and his hearers'
pain. The announcement that Jenkins would
recite another poem gave the audience a de-
sire for continued existence.
Sandy read “Sweeten Tatahs,” and then
Johnson rendered “Home, Sweet Home”
with variations.
254


JIt the Øburel)
“Friends,” said the Rev. Thirdly, coming
forward and leaning upon his elbow against
the pulpit, “as you doubtless observe by the
souvenirs which you hold in your hands,
the quartet's song, which follows, is the
last number on the program. Now, for
fear some of you may go out, and thereby
miss the event of your lives, I desire to say
that after the quartet sings, you are kindly
requested to keep your seats for a few min-
utes, as I have words of very grave impor-
tance to say to you; after which as many as
wish to do so will be given the opportunity
of meeting Mr. Jenkins, and grasping him
cordially by the hand, immediately in front
of the altar. The quartet will now render
‘My Old Kentucky Home.’ And the min-
ister disappeared in the direction of his study.
The quartet sang, and the audience re-
mained stone still, in almost breathless an-
ticipation. It had not long to wait. Slowly
the familiar figure of the minister was seen
255


Jit the Øburch)
|
to sen' you two, th’ee putty little cu'ly-headed
boys an' girls to comfo't yo' ole age, 'n' I'll
warrant you'll be right happy!”
Sibyll hid her face, and everybody laughed;
and, as the carriage drove away, Thompson
shouted, “I’m comin' up to cook foh you,
Sandy!”
“All right,” yelled Sandy, “I’ll look foh
you Monday mo'nin'!” -
“Johnny's his secretary still, 'n' I'm goin'
up an' git a waiter job,” said Saskatchewan
Jones.
“I b'leve I'll be his head pahty man,”
said Lightfoot Johnson.
“Very place foh you,” observed Thompson.
“I'd make 'im a good secon' man, I guess,”
remarked Brighteyes.
“Whut'll you do, Loudmouf?” asked
Thompson.
“I’m jes' studyin',” replied
the ex-preacher. “I 'speck
I'll go up an’ be his cap'in

261


Che Black Wat Ølub
o' de watch, so’s I kin git 'mongst his good
eatin's foh nothin'. Den I'll staht ma se’f
a mission right nex’ do' to 'im, an' jes'
make a mint o' money outen it! K'ha! haſ
ha!” laughed the Rev. L––, dancing and
slapping himself for joy at the brilliancy of
his thought, “’at's jes' whut I'll do! I'll hab
all you dahkies' money!”
“Loudmouf, you's a case,” remarked
Thompson.
“Got to be, to git on in dis wicked worl’,”
returned Loudmouth. “Whut you say, Br'er
Sampson’’’
“All I’ got to say is, may God bless Sandy
an' his sweet little wife Long's he treats
huh right, I'll sho' stan' by him.”
“Say, you all makes me right weak!” ex-
claimed Simon, in disgust. “Whut you
gwine to do wid’at furniture an' stuff down
at the club? You all got so good, I 'speck
I'll take an' sell it—'at whut's wo'f anythaing.
I knowed how thaings 'ud end when Sandy
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