Short Stories for English Courses Part 39

"He in the homespun?" asks a second shopkeeper. "Humph! an Americain--a West-Floridian; bah!"

"But wait; 'st! he is speaking; listen!"

"To who is he speak--?"

"Sh-sh-sh! to Jules."

"Jules who?"

"Silence, you! To Jules St.-Ange, what howe me a bill since long time. Sh-sh-sh!"

Then the voice was heard.

Its owner was a man of giant stature, with a slight stoop in his shoulders, as if he was making a constant, good-natured attempt to accommodate himself to ordinary doors and ceilings. His bones were those of an ox. His face was marked more by weather than age, and his narrow brow was bald and smooth. He had instantaneously formed an opinion of Jules St.-Ange, and the mult.i.tude of words, most of them lingual curiosities, with which he was rasping the wide-open ears of his listeners, signified, in short, that, as sure as his name was Parson Jones, the little Creole was a "plum gentleman."

M. St.-Ange bowed and smiled, and was about to call attention, by both gesture and speech, to a singular object on top of the still uncovered head, when the nervous motion of the Americain antic.i.p.ated him, as, throwing up an immense hand, he drew down a large roll of bank-notes. The crowd laughed, the West-Floridian joining, and began to disperse.

"Why, that money belongs to Smyrny Church," said the giant.

"You are very dengerous to make your money expose like that, Misty Posson Jone'," said St.-Ange, counting it with his eyes.

The countryman gave a start and smile of surprise.

"How d'dyou know my name was Jones?" he asked; but, without pausing for the Creole's answer, furnished in his reckless way some further specimens of West-Floridian English; and the conciseness with which he presented full intelligence of his home, family, calling, lodging-house, and present and future plans, might have pa.s.sed for consummate art, had it not been the most run-wild nature. "And I've done been to Mobile, you know, on busiNESS for Bethesdy Church. It's the on'yest time I ever been from home; now you wouldn't of believed that, would you? But I admire to have saw you, that's so. You've got to come and eat with me. Me and my boy ain't been fed yit. What might one call yo'

name? Jools? Come on, Jools. Come on, Colossus. That's my n.i.g.g.ah-- his name's Colossus of Rhodes. Is that yo' yallah boy, Jools!

Fetch him along, Colossus. It seems like a special proviDENCE.- Jools, do you believe in a special proviDENCE?"

Jules said he did.

The new-made friends moved briskly off, followed by Baptiste and a short, square, old negro, very black and grotesque, who had introduced himself to the mulatto, with many glittering and cavernous smiles, as "d'body-sarvant of d'Rev'n' Mr. Jones."

Both pairs enlivened their walk with conversation. Parson Jones descanted upon the doctrine he had mentioned, as ill.u.s.trated in the perplexities of cotton-growing, and concluded that there would always be "a special proviDENCE again' cotton untell folks quits a-pressin' of it and haulin' of it on Sundays!"

"Je dis," said St.-Ange, in response, "I thing you is juz right. I believe, me, strong-strong in the improvidence, yes. You know my papa he hown a sugah-plantation, you know. 'Jules, me son,' he say one time to me, 'I goin' to make one baril sugah to fedge the moze high price in New Orleans.' Well, he take his bez baril sugah--I nevah see a so careful man like me papa always to make a so beautiful sugah et sirop. 'Jules, go at Father Pierre an' ged this lill pitcher fill with holy-water, an' tell him sen' his tin bucket, and I will make it fill with quitte.' I ged the holy- water; my papa sprinkle it over the baril, an' make one cross on the 'ead of the baril."

"Why, Jools," said Parson Jones, "that didn't do no good."

"Din do no good! Id broughd the so great value! You can strike me dead if thad baril sugah din fedge the more high cost than any other in the city. Parce-que, the man what buy that baril sugah he make a mistake of one hundred pound "--falling back--"Mais certainlee!"'

"And you think that was growin' out of the holy-water?" asked the parson.

"Mais, what could make it else? Id could not be the quitte, because my papa keep the bucket, an' forget to sen' the quitte to Father Pierre."

Parson Jones was disappointed.

"Well, now, Jools, you know, I don't think that was right. I reckon you must be a plum Catholic."

M. St.-Ange shrugged. He would not deny his faith.

"I am a Catholique, mais"--brightening as he hoped to recommend himself anew--"not a good one."

"Well, you know," said Jones--"where's Colossus? Oh! all right.

Colossus strayed off a minute in Mobile, and I plum lost him for two days. Here's the place; come in. Colossus and this boy can go to the kitchen.--Now, Colossus, what AIR you a-beckonin' at me faw?"

He let his servant draw him aside and address him in a whisper.

"Oh, go 'way!" said the parson with a jerk. "Who's goin' to throw me? What? Speak louder. Why, Colossus, you shayn't talk so, saw.

'Pon my soul, you're the mightiest fool I ever taken up with. Jest you go down that alley-way with this yalla boy, and don't show yo'

face untell yo' called!"

The negro begged; the master wrathily insisted.

"Colossus, will you do ez I tell you, or sh.e.l.l I hev to strike you, saw?"

"O Mahs Jimmy, I--I's gwine; but"--he ventured nearer--"don't on no account drink nothin', Mahs Jimmy."

Such was the negro's earnestness that he put one foot in the gutter, and fell heavily against his master. The parson threw him off angrily.

"Thar, now! Why, Colossus, you most of been dosted with sumthin'; yo' plum crazy.--Humph, come on, Jools, let's eat! Humph! to tell me that when I never taken a drop, exceptin' for chills, in my life--which he knows so as well as me!"

The two masters began to ascend a stair.

"Mais, he is a sa.s.sy; I would sell him, me," said the young Creole.

"No, I wouldn't do that," replied the parson; "though there is people in Bethesdy who says he is a rascal. He's a powerful smart fool. Why, that boy's got money, Jools; more money than religion, I reckon. I'm sh.o.r.e he fallen into mighty bad company"--they pa.s.sed beyond earshot.

Baptiste and Colossus, instead of going to the tavern kitchen, pa.s.sed to the next door and entered the dark rear corner of a low grocery, where, the law notwithstanding, liquor was covertly sold to slaves. There, in the quiet company of Baptiste and the grocer, the colloquial powers of Colossus, which were simply prodigious, began very soon to show themselves.

"For whilst," said he, "Mahs Jimmy has eddication, you know-- whilst he has eddication, I has 'scretion. He has eddication and I has 'scretion, an' so we gits along."

He drew a black bottle down the counter, and, laying half his length upon the damp board, continued:

"As a p'inciple I discredits de imbimin' of awjus liquors. De imbimin' of awjus liquors, de wiolution of de Sabbaf, de playin'

of de fiddle, and de usin' of by-words, dey is de fo' sins of de conscience; an' if any man sin de fo' sins of de conscience, de debble done sharp his fork fo' dat man.--Ain't that so, boss?"

The grocer was sure it was so.

"Neberdeless, mind you"--here the orator brimmed his gla.s.s from the bottle and swallowed the contents with a dry eye--"mind you, a roytious man, sech as ministers of de gospel and dere body- sarvants, can take a LEETLE for de weak stomach."

But the fascinations of Colossus's eloquence must not mislead us; this is the story of a true Christian; to wit, Parson Jones.

The parson and his new friend ate. But the coffee M. St.-Ange declared he could not touch; it was too wretchedly bad. At the French Market, near by, there was some n.o.ble coffee. This, however, would have to be bought, and Parson Jones had scruples.

"You see, Jools, every man has his conscience to guide him, which it does so in--"

"Oh, yes!" cried St.-Ange, "conscien'; thad is the bez, Posson Jone'. Certainlee! I am a CATHOLIQUE, you is a SCHISMATIQUE; you thing it is wrong to dring some coffee--well, then, it IS wrong; you thing it is wrong to make the sugah to ged the so large price --well, then, it IS wrong; I thing it is right--well, then, it IS right; it is all 'abit; c'est tout. What a man thing is right, IS RIGHT; 'tis all 'abit. A man muz nod go again' his conscien'. My faith! do you thing I would go again' my conscien'? Mais allons, led us go and ged some coffee."

"Jools."