"Ya.s.sah! Oh, ya.s.sah," Andy declared bravely. "I likes ter see a fight--I likes ter see de fur fly--but I don't care 'bout furnishin' none er de fur!"

Norton had reached the door when he suddenly turned, the momentary humor of his play with the negro gone from his sombre face, the tragedy of a life speaking in every tone as he slowly said:

"Fight it out! It's the only thing to do--fight it out!"

Andy stared at the retreating figure dazed by the violence of pa.s.sion with which his master had answered, wondering vaguely what could be the meaning of the threat behind his last words.

CHAPTER XX

ANDY FIGHTS

When Andy had recovered from his surprise at the violence of Norton's parting advice his eye suddenly rested on the tray of untouched mint juleps.

A broad smile broke over his black countenance:

"Fight it out! Fight it out!" he exclaimed with a quick movement toward the table. "Ya.s.sah, I'm gwine do it, too, I is!"

He paused before the array of filled gla.s.ses of the iced beverage, saluted silently, and raised one high over his head to all imaginary friends who might be present. His eye rested on the portrait of General Lee. He bowed and saluted again. Further on hung Stonewall Jackson. He lifted his gla.s.s to him, and last to Norton's grandfather in his blue and yellow colonial regimentals. He pressed the gla.s.s to his thirsty lips and waved the julep a jovial farewell with the palm of his left hand as he poured it gently but firmly down to the last drop.

He smacked his lips, drew a long breath and sighed:

"Put ernuff er dat stuff inside er me, I kin fight er wil'cat! Ya.s.sah, an'

I gwine do it. I gwine ter be rough wid her, too! Rough wid her, I is!"

He seized another gla.s.s and drained half of it, drew himself up with determination, walked to the door leading to the hall toward the kitchen and called:

"Miss Minerva!"

Receiving no answer, he returned quickly to the tray and took another drink:

"Rough wid her--dat's de way--rough wid her!"

He pulled his vest down with a vicious jerk, bravely took one step, paused, reached back, picked up his gla.s.s again, drained it, and walked to the door.

"Miss Minerva!" he called loudly and fiercely.

From the kitchen came the answer in tender tones:

"Yas--honey!"

Andy retreated hastily to the table and took another drink before the huge but smiling figure appeared in the doorway.

"Did my true love call?" she asked softly.

Andy groaned, grasped a gla.s.s and quickly poured another drink of Dutch courage down. "Ya.s.sam, Miss Minerva, I thought I hear yer out dar----"

Minerva giggled as lightly as she could considering her two hundred and fifty pounds:

"Yas, honey, hit's little me!"

Andy had begun to feel the bracing effects of the two full gla.s.ses of mint juleps. He put his hands in his pockets, walked with springing strides to the other end of the room, returned and squared himself impressively before Minerva. Before he could speak his courage began to fail and he stuttered:

"M-M-M-Miss Minerva!"

The good-humored, shining black face was raised in sharp surprise:

"What de matter wid you, man, er hoppin' roun' over de flo' lak er flea in er hot skillet?"

Andy saw that the time had come when he must speak unless he meant to again ignominiously surrender. He began boldly:

"Miss Minerva! I got somethin' scandalous ter say ter you!"

She glared at him, the whites of her eyes shining ominously, crossed the room quickly and confronted Andy:

"Don't yer dar' say nuttin' scandalizin' ter me, sah!"

His eyes fell and he moved as if to retreat. She nudged him gently:

"G'long, man, what is it?"

He took courage:

"I got ter 'fess ter you, m'am, dat I'se tangled up wid annuder 'oman!"

The black face suddenly flashed with wrath, and her figure was electric with battle. The very pores of her dusky skin seemed to radiate war.

"Who bin tryin' ter steal you?" she cried. "Des sho' her ter me, an' we see who's who!"

Andy waved his hands in a conciliatory self-accusing gesture:

"Ya.s.sam--ya.s.sam! But I make er fool outen myse'f about her--hit's Miss Cleo!"

"Cleo!" Minerva gasped, staggering back until her form collided with the table and rattled the gla.s.ses on the tray. At the sound of the tinkling gla.s.s, she turned, grasped a mint julep, and drank the whole of it at a single effort.

Andy, who had been working on a figure in the rug with the toe of his shoe during his confession, looked up, saw that she had captured his inspiration, and sprang back in alarm.

Minerva paused but a moment for breath and rushed for him:

"Dat yaller Jezebel!--tryin' ter fling er spell over you--but I gwine ter save ye, honey!"

Andy retreated behind the lounge, his ample protector hot on his heels:

"Ya.s.sam!" he cried, "but I don't want ter be saved!"