Commerce High School - Commerce Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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at which Henry sat in his corner, on a cane seated chair. The chair was, however, minus the cane seat with the exception of a fringe around the inside of the frame. Aunt Sal lie arranged the tempting dishes on the crimson table cloth, and after a self-satisfied look at the result she turned to Jim. “Jim, you has been a good chile an your ole mammy is mighty proud ob you. Jes pull your chair up to dis heah table an I’ll git you some ob dis chicken.” A cunning smile played round the corner of her mouth and a queer light shone in her eyes. Now if Jim had been anxious before, he was astonished this time for Henry had always been the first told, that he should come to the table and Jim always followed. His face nowr took on a troubled, anxious look, at he stood on one foot by his chair. “Set down chile, set down! I reckon you doan eat your supper standin’ dat 'ar way.” Aunt Sallie smiled wickedly as she seated herself and urged Jim to eat. “Neber ’fore dis time did I ebber hab sech a fat tendah fowl as what dat one am.” As she spoke thus to Jim she watched Henry, out of the corner of her eye, to see just what effect her words had on him. Henry was gazing longingly at the delicious bite that Jim was just about to put into his mouth. She was satisfied with Henry but believed that he needed still more practical admonition. “Hab some ob dis graby on your taters, Jimf It’ll make your mawf wattah all over your face. It jes does my heart good to see you eat dat ’ar way. —Um! ----! dat am a sure ’nuff fine bird.” Jim’s eye happened to catch sight of Henry’s face and a guilty look flashed over his own. For a minute he was decidedly uncomfortable but consoled himself with the thought that it was all Aunt Sallie’s doing. Nevertheless, the next bite of chicken was mighty hard to swallow. To see Aunt Sallie and Jim devouring this delicious meal was more then Henry could stand. He could wait no longer but cautiously drew his chair toward the table. “Nigger,” yelled Aunt Sallie, holding her head as high as her thick, short neck permitted. “You jes gwan out in dat ’ar kitchen. You can hab your suppah out dar. We doan want none ob you in dis room!” “Now—now’—jes you let me set here long side ob you Sallie, you done cooked a mighty fine suppah you has.” His attempt to pacify his irate spouse was indeed in vain for she had seemingly determined not to be pacified. “You done run roun’ dat town all day an’ you aint eben chopped a stick ob wood for my fiah! I aint got no call for to keep sech a lazy nigger. You jes gwan back to town an ax them to gib you some suppah. I’se jes gwan to quit dis workin’ all day to keep the likes ob you.” 132

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“Stan there an grin! Where am dat ignorant ole man of yourn? I done tell him ter fetch dat ’ar wood. You go long wid you an tell him fo' to git hisself long here right smart, ’fore I comes arter him.” Jim knew too well what was coming and decided to champion his grandmother no matter to what extremes the case might go. For every time in the family jars that had arisen, since he could remember, his grandmother, right or wrong, had come out victor. In the meantime Henry had goue to the stable; his usual retreat. Jim started on a run but soon stopped. The idea of a coming conflict appealed to his excitable imagination. “The longer it takes him to get there the moah he’ll kotch it,” mused the curly headed, grinning little imp of darkness. Henry was talking to a younger fellow who pretended to work, but who loafed around the stables, which belonged to “Mas'r Harry.” a prosperous southern gentleman, and .apparently didn’t like the thought of being interrupted by Jim. “You jes run chil’ an doan you bodder me no moah.” “Mammy, she done tell me for to tell you to git long heah right smart.” Henry’s stooped shoulders straightened and his bowed legs sprung a sharper cum as he yelled at the boy. “You jes tell dat ole woman ob mine dat she aint got no string on me.” Jim had accomplished what he intended, so he started back at once in order to cut off any contradiction that his worthy old grandfather might add. The half hour that had elapsed since Aunt Sallie had sent Henry for wood was sufficient cause to put her into a sweet mood. “Where am dat ole man?” greeted Jim when he put his head in at the door. “My pop”—Jim’s father died before his boy was old enough to know him and Henry had been “Pop” to Jim from the time the little fellow was old enough to talk. “My pop, he said you doan got no string on him an he aint cornin’ for you all.” Aunt Sallie’s fat sides shook as she laughed, a derisive, malignant laugh, and she waddled out through the door-way. Her head bobbed up and down as she grumbled to herself about the good for nothing “ole man what I done got to keep.” After Jim had informed Henry that his presence was desired at the cabin, and then had left no chance for him to add a favorable message for Aunt Sallie, Henry decided that he had better busy himself some'place where she would not be apt to look for him. As a rule he could walk to Sanford in an hour, but he was in a hurry today and covered the distance in a remarkably short time. He stayed in town until he thought Aunt Sallie’s temper would have cooled, and strange to say arrived home just in time for the chicken supper. The fact that no one eats at Aunt Sallie’s table without an invitation accounts for the anxious look on Jim’s face and also for the uncomfortable angle 131

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Poor old Henry’s knees shook under him and his eyes could find nothing to look at but the floor and for some reason or other he felt that the blow was yet to come. Aunt Sallie put her hands on her hips and continued her speech. “What you s’pose the Lawd made you fort Jes to look at? Answer me dat nigger! Lawdy no! He doan make ugly niggers jes to look at,” and as if to give the effect of her words the greater strength, the knot of wool on the back of her head, which was already fairly tight, she wound up with such a vicious twist that her skull, had it been able, would have shrieked the protest it must have felt. In the midst of this action she finished her tirade. “He made ’em to work an’ dat’s jes what you is gwin to do.’’ “Now—Now—jes let—jes—why—” “Shet up your inawf till I gets done talkin’.” “Sallie, I’se been a-” “Shet up I tell you! When I gets my say all done you wont want no say. Mas’r Henry he come down here dis berry mawnin’ for you. He says no reason why you can’t work at his stables an I jes said as how you’d be up dar bright an early in the mawnin’.” Henry’s mouth gaped wide open and his eyes seemed to start from his head. Henry hadn’t worked regularly for two hours, continuous labor, since he married Aunt Sallie and it was certainly a great blow to his pride to be sent to work after being supported by his wife so long. Ilis hands went to his head to be sure he wasn’t dreaming and when he decided that he must be awake, he heard her say, “Youse a goin’ nigger! Youse a goin’.” Then her face softened and she spoke in a tone more like the one she ordinarily used. “Secin’ how early you’ll hab to get up an how hard you'll hab to work you ken jes set down an hab some suppah wid Jim an me.” Henry shuffled to the table and sat down mechanically. Aunt Sallie could certainly not have dreamed of more satisfactory results for Henry was completely cowed. Do what he would that awful word—WORK—stared him in the face. He was so thoroughly shocked at the turn affairs had taken that he forgot to eat until Aunt Sallie shoved a heaped plate before him and reminded him of his natural appetite for chicken, by saying: “Eat hearty ole man, it’s the berry last meal your Aunt Sallie's gwan to earn for you! You’ll do the bread earnin’ from dis day on.” Jim’s eyes were full of unshed tears for he had never known his grandfather to do a half day’s work. He soon noticed that in spite of the fact that Henry hated work as a cat hates a cold shower bath, he was enjoying Aunt Sal-lie’s chicken supper. Jim’s dear little heart beat with joy, for after all he loved both his grandparents dearly and he reasoned that work was not such a terrible thing for Pop Henry, after all, since he seemed to forget all about its terror as he bent his energies on Aunt Sallie's chicken supper. ALVERNA RUSSELL. 1913. 133