"Well, she can't take you by force."

"I don't know 'bout dat, sah. When any 'oman gits her min' sot she's dangous. But when a 'oman big an' black es she make up her min'!"

"Black!" Tom cried, squaring himself and looking Andy over: "Aren't you just a little shady?"

"Who? Me?--nasah! I ain't no black n.i.g.g.e.r!"

"No?"

"Nasah! I'se what dey calls er tantalizin' brown!"

"Oh, I see!"

"Ya.s.sah, I'se er chocolate-colored gemman--an' I nebber could stan' dese here coal-black n.i.g.g.e.rs. Miss Minerva's so black she kin spit ink!"

"And she's 'atter' you?"

"Ya.s.sah, an' Miss Minerva's a widder 'oman, an' ye know de Scripter says, 'Beware of widders'----"

"Of course!" Tom agreed.

"I'se er gemman, yer know, Mister Tom. I can't insult er lady, an' dat's de particular reason dat I wants ter percipitate mysef wid my true love before dat big, black 'oman gits her hands on me. She's atter me sho, an' ef she gits me in er close place, what I gwine do, sah?"

Tom a.s.sumed a judicial att.i.tude, folded his arms and asked:

"Well, who's the other one?--who's your true love?"

Andy put his hand over his mouth to suppress a snicker:

"Now dat's whar I kinder hesitates, sah. I bin er beatin' de debbil roun'

de stump fur de pas' week tryin' ter screw up my courage ter ax ye ter help me. But Mister Tom, you gettin' so big an' dignified I kinder skeered. You got ter puttin' on more airs dan de major----"

"Ah, who is she?" the boy asked brusquely.

Andy glanced at him out of the corners of his rolling eyes:

"Yer ain't gwine laugh at me--is yer?"

With an effort Tom kept his face straight:

"No, I may be just as big a fool some day myself--who is she?"

Andy stepped close and whispered:

"Miss Cleo!"

"Cleo----"

"Ya.s.sah."

"Well, you are a fool!" the boy exclaimed indignantly.

"Ya.s.sah, I spec I is," Andy answered, crestfallen, "but I des can't hep it, sah."

"Cleo, my nurse, my mammy--why, she wouldn't wipe her foot on you if you were a door-mat. She's almost as white as I am."

"Ya.s.sah, I know, an' dat's what make me want her so. She's mine ef I kin git her! Hit des takes one drap er black blood to make er n.i.g.g.e.r, sah."

"Bah--she wouldn't look at you!"

"I know she holds er high head, sah. She's been eddicated an' all dat--but you listen ter me, honey--she gwine look at me all de same, when I say de word."

"Yes, long enough to laugh."

Andy disregarded the shot, and prinked himself before the mirror:

"Don't yer think my complexion's gettin' little better, sah?"

Tom picked up a book with a smile:

"You do look a little pale to-day, but I think that's your liver!"

Andy broke into a laugh:

"Nasah. Dat ain't my liver!"

"Must be!"

"Nasah! I got er patent bleacher frum New York dat's gwine ter make me white ef I kin des buy enough of it."

"How much have you used?"

"Hain't used but six bottles yit. Hit costs three dollars a bottle"--he paused and rubbed his hands smoothingly over his head. "Don't yer think my hair's gittin' straighter, sah?"

Tom turned another page of the book without looking up:

"Not so that you could notice it."

"Ya.s.sah, 'tis!" Andy laughed, eyeing it sideways in the mirror and making a vain effort to see the back of his head. "I'se er usin' er concoction called 'Not-a-Kink.' Hit costs five dollars a bottle--but man, hit sho is doin' de work! I kin des feel dem kinks slippin' right out."

"There's nothing much the matter with your hair, Andy," Tom said, looking up with a smile, "that's the straightest thing about you. The trouble's inside."

"What de matter wid me inside?"

"You're crooked."

"Who--me?" Andy cried. "Ah, go long, Mister Tom, wid yer projectin'--yer des foolin' wid me"--he came close and busied himself brushing the boy's coat and continued with insinuating unction--"now ef yer des put in one little word fer me wid Miss Cleo----"