errup's him, an' I say, 'P'laski,' says
I, 'I's raised wid de fust o' folks, 'cuz I's raised wid de Ma-conses
at Doc' Macon's in Hanover, an' I's spectated fish fries, an' festibals,
an' bobby-cues; but I ain' nuver witness nuttin' like dat--a nigger
ridin' 'pon a hoss hard as he kin stave, an' nominatin' of it a
tunament,' I says. 'You's talkin' 'bout a hoss-race,' I says, ''cuz
dat's de on'yes' thing,' I says, 'a nigger rides in.' You know, suh," he
broke in suddenly, "you and I's seen many a hoss-race, 'cuz we come f'om
hoss kentry, right down dyah f'om whar Marse Torm Doswell live, an' we
done see hoss-races whar wuz hoss-races sho 'nough, at the ole Fyarfiel'
race-co'se, whar hosses used to run could beat buds flyin' an' so I tole
him. I tole him I nuver heah nobody but a po' white folks' nigger call
a hoss-race a tunament; an' I tole him I reckon de pole he talkin' 'bout
wuz de hick'ry dee used to tune de boys' backs wid recasionally when dee
didn' ride right. Dat cut him down might'ly, 'cuz dat ermine him o' de
hick'ries I done wyah out 'pon him; but he say, 'Nor, 'tis a long pole
whar you punch th'oo a ring, an' de one whar punch de moes, he crown de
queen.' I tole him dat de on'yes' queen I uver heah 'bout wuz a cow ole
master had, whar teck de fust prize at de State fyah in Richmond one
year; but he presist dat this wuz a tunament queen, and he warn three
dollars an' a half to get him a new shut an' to pay he part ov de
supper. Den I tole him ef he think I gwine give him three dollars an' a
half for dat foolishness he mus' think I big a fool as he wuz. Wid dat
he begin to act kine o' aggervated, which I teck for incidence, 'cuz I
nuver could abeah chillern ner women to be sullen roun' me; an' I gi'
him de notification dat ef I cotch him foolin' wid any tunament I gwine
ride him tell he oon know when he ain't a mule hisself; an' I gwine have
hick'ry pole dyah too. Den I tolt him he better go 'long back to ole
Mis' Twine, whar I done hire him to; an' when he see me pick up de
barrel hoop an' start to roll up my sleeve, he went; an' I heah he jine
dat Jim Sinkfiel', an' dat's what git me into all dat tribilation."

"What got you in?" I inquired, in some doubt as to his meaning.

"Dat tunament, suh. P'laski rid it! An' what's mo,' suh, he won de
queen,--one o' ole man Bob Sibley's impident gals,--an' when he come to
crown her, he crown her wid ole Mis' Twine's weddin'-ring!"

There was a subdued murmur of amuseme