Part 28 (1/2)
”Keep 'way! Keep 'way, son!” the old man hastily warned. ”Keep 'way from his heah whirlwind!”
Bip backed slowly off. He understood the uncertainties of this location, and carefully watched the mule's antic.i.p.ative ears which were symbols of treachery.
”Git on 'way, now,” Zack again warned. ”I'se gwine heist up de saddle!”
”He can't kick me over here,” the boy said.
”Don' you believe no sich a-thing,” the negro emphatically exclaimed.
”De op'ras.h.i.+ons of dis heah telescope extends to jest whar you happen to be standin'--no moh, an' no less. All he wants to know is yoh ad-dress, an' he'll pop you suah!”
”Then I'm as safe here as I would be at home,” came the logical retort.
Zack stopped what he was about to do and stood with a broad grin on his face. Slowly he looked from the st.u.r.dy little youngster to the mule, and at last back again.
”De onlies' diff'ence is,” he scratched his head, ”dat ef you cross de road now, mebbe you kin do it lak a li'l gemmen; but ef you keep on foolin' 'roun' dis mule's back-doh, you'se apt to git heisted crost lak a jay-bird. It's mighty good sense to press yoh luck as fur's it'll go, honey, but a oudacious sin to set right out to bust it. An' 'member what ole Zack say 'bout dat, 'caze it mought do you a heap of good some day!”
Zack's saddle was finally tied on with a piece of clothesline and, putting his foot in a rope stirrup, he mounted.
”Now I'se gwine arter dat nickel,” he declared. ”Scramble up on yoh dumplin' an' come 'long! Li'l Mesmie,” he looked down at the girl, ”you stan' right dar an' squint yoh eyes good, an' you'll see de hottes'
Kentucky Derby ever run!”
Bip led his pony to the horseblock, and by much squirming managed to wriggle on; then trotted over to Uncle Zack.
”We're ready,” he cried, his face alight with excitement. ”How much start'll you give me?”
”Staht! I ain' gwine give you _no_ staht! You'se wuss'n a gal!”
”Why ain' you gwine give him no staht?” an indignant voice called, and, turning, he beheld Aunt Timmie leaning against the house complacently regarding them.
”Of course you'll give him a start!” the Colonel thundered, thereby showing to what extent he had been reading during the past half hour.
”It wouldn't be sporty not to give him a start, Uncle Zack,” came still another voice, this time from the shrubbery where Brent, returning from a dabble at his work, had halted in the keenest amus.e.m.e.nt.
”Well, 'pon mah word,” the old fellow scratched his head. ”It looks lak I'se booked to race de whole fam'ly. Ma.r.s.e John, how much you reckon I'd ought to give 'im? 'Foh you answers, jes' keep in mind dat dis heah keg of dynermite I'se ridin' ain' got no shoes on, an' dese heah ropes is mighty rotten; an', ef we goes our best, de mule ain' gwine be de onlies' one dat'll need a hawse-doctor! I ain' got no nickel, no-way!”
Timmie was shaking with mirth. ”I wish you'd git yohse'f kilt,” she affectionately laughed at him. ”Go on, den, an' find de Willer-de-Wispies. De chile's done been honin' 'bout 'em in his sleep.
An' mind, don' let 'im git nigh no pisen-ivy! An' Zack,” she called, as they were riding away with Mesmie now up behind Bip, ”git 'im back heah by twelve!”
Still chuckling, she waddled around to the front, where only she and Zack, of all the servants, were permitted to tarry, and sat upon the lowest step.
CHAPTER XX
A STARTLING CONFESSION
”That ought to have been a fine race, Brent,” the Colonel wiped his forehead and laughed. ”But I suspect it would have made Timmie a widow.”
”A widow?” Brent asked, pa.s.sing her with a cheery nod. ”Uncle Zack told me they were twins!”
”So we is twins,” the old woman a.s.serted, ”but dat don' keep me from bein' a widder, do it?”