"Take my advice, Andy," the boy said seriously, "keep away from her--she'll kill you."

"Not ef you help me out, sah," Andy urged eagerly. "She'll do anything fer you, Mister Tom--she lubs de very ground you walks on--des put in one little word fer me, sah----"

Tom shook his head emphatically:

"Can't do it, Andy!"

"Don't say dat, Mister Tom!"

"Can't do it."

Andy flicked imaginary lint from both sleeves of Tom's coat:

"Now look here, Mister Tom----"

The boy turned away protesting:

"No, I can't do it."

"Lordy, Mister Tom," Andy cried in grieved tones. "You ain't gwine back on me like dat des 'cose yer went ter college up dar in de Norf an' git mixed up wid Yankee notions! Why, you an' me's always been good friends an'

partners. What ye got agin me?"

A gleam of mischief slipped into the boy's eyes again as he folded his arms with mock severity:

"To begin with, you're the biggest old liar in the United States----"

"Lordy, Mister Tom, I nebber tell a lie in my life, sah!"

"Andy--Andy!"

The negro held his face straight for a moment and then broke into a laugh:

"Well, sah, I may has _pre-var-i-cated_ some times, but dat ain't lyin'--why, all gemmens do dat."

"And look at this suit of clothes," Tom said severely, "that you've just swiped from Dad. You'd steal anything you can get your hands on!"

Andy turned away and spoke with deep grief

"Mister Tom, you sho do hurt my feelin's, sah--I nebber steal nuttin' in my life."

"I've known you to steal a palm-leaf fan in the dead of winter with snow on the ground."

Andy laughed uproariously:

"Why, man, dat ain't stealin! Who gwine ter want er palm-leaf fan wid snow on de groun'?--dat's des findin' things. You know dey calls me Hones' Andy.

When dey ketch me wid de goods I nebber try ter lie outen it lak some fool n.i.g.g.e.rs. I des laugh, 'fess right up, an' hit's all right. Dat's what make 'em call me Hones' Andy, cose I always knows dat honesty's de bes'

policy--an' here you comes callin' me a thief--Lordee, Mister Tom, yer sho do hurt my feelin's!"

The boy shook his head again and frowned:

"You're a hopeless old sinner----"

"Who, me, er sinner? Why, man erlive, I'se er pillar in de church!"

"G.o.d save the church!"

"I mebbe backslide a little, sah, in de winter time," Andy hastened to admit. "But I'se always de fus' man to de mourners' bench in de spring. I mos' generally leads de mourners, sah, an' when I comes froo an' gits religion over again, yer kin hear me shout er mile----"

"And I bet when the chickens hear it they roost higher the next night!"

Andy ignored the thrust and went on enthusiastically:

"Nasah, de church folks don't call me no sinner. I always stands up fer religion. Don't yer min' de time dat big yaller n.i.g.g.e.r c.u.m down here from de Norf er castin' circ.u.mflexions on our church? I wuz de man dat stood right up in de meetin' an' defends de cause er de Lawd. I haul off an' biff 'im right in the jaw----"

"And you're going to ask Cleo to marry you?"

"I sho' is, sah."

"Haven't you a wife living, Andy?" the boy asked carelessly.

The whites of the negro's eyes suddenly shone as he rolled them in the opposite direction. He scratched his head and turned back to his friendly tormentor with unction:

"Mr. Tom, I'm gwine ter be hones'--cose honesty is de bes' policy. I did marry a lady, sah, but dat wuz er long time ergo. She run away an' lef me an' git married ergin an' I divorced her, sah. She don't pester me no mo'

an' I don't pester her. Hit warn't my fault, sah, an' I des put her away ez de Bible sez. Ain't dat all right, sah?"

"Well, it's hardly legal to-day, though it may have been a Biblical custom."

"Ya.s.sah, but dat's nuttin' ter do wid n.i.g.g.e.rs. De white folks make de laws an' dey hatter go by 'em. But n.i.g.g.e.rs is n.i.g.g.e.rs, yer know dat yosef, sah."

Tom broke into a laugh:

"Andy, you certainly are a bird!"

The negro joined in the laugh with a joyous chuckle at its close:

"Ya.s.sah, ya.s.sah--one er dese here great big brown blackbirds! But, Lordy, Mister Tom, yer des foolin' wid me--yer ain't got nuttin' 'gin yer ole partner, barrin' dem few little things?"

"No, barring the few things I've mentioned, that you're a lazy, lying, impudent old rascal--barring these few little things--why--otherwise you're all right, Andy, you're all right!"

The negro chuckled joyfully:

"Ya.s.sah--ya.s.sah! I knowed yer warn't gwine back on me, Mister Tom." He edged close and dropped his voice to the oiliest whisper: "You'll say dat good word now to Miss Cleo right away, sah?"

The boy shook his head:

"The only thing I'll agree to do, Andy, is to stand by and see you commit suicide. If it's any comfort to you, I'll tell you that she'll kill you."

"Nasah! Don't yer believe it. Ef I kin des escape dat fat 'oman wid my life before she gits me--now dat you'se on my side I kin read my t.i.tles clar----"