Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 42: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

852 “Oh, my Lawd! De Prophet Dan’l— he done flewed away wid de gol’ mine!” VI. THE two men, baffled and bewildered, had departed. Lynnie was trying to get a coherent explanation from Aunt Jury. Never in her life had Lynnie seen the old woman under so great an emotional stress. She was shaken by fear and superstition. ‘Miss Lynnie,” she began, ‘ you know you’d been gazin’ on de ce’tifycut befo’ de genelmen come—an’ when dey knock ’pon da door you laid it down on de kitchen table. Wellum, Miss Lynnie, hit may been de splotch o’ red sealin’ wax, er hit may been de bright green readin’—TI kain’t no- ways tell. But somepin’er ketch de ’ten- tion o’ dat debbil bird. An’ de fust news I knowed he cotch up de paper in his beak! He flewed outen de window—an’ he wing his way toward ’at—ar gulch which dey calls de Daid Nigger Cafion! Yas’m. An’ now,” concluded Aunt Jury dolefully, “I reckon we done loss our gol’ mine.” “No, Aunt Jury.” Lynnie spoke com- fortingly. ‘‘ They said that even if I had lost the certificate there is a lesal procedure that ‘Il make it all right.” ‘“* Sign a papeh?”’ ee Yes.” “‘ No, ma’am—you cain’t sign no papeh!” Aunt Jury was more excited than ever. “ Hit ’d be slappin’ de face 0’ yo’ gyardeen angel!” When she spoke again it was with slow, dramatic solemnity: “ Hit’s dis-a-way: De good Lawd done promp’ de Prophet Dan’l to do ’at fatal deed—er else ol’ man Satan done promp’ him. An’ / ain’t gwine interfere. An’ you ain’t!”’ “ Nonsense, Aunt Jury!” <Chre,” said Aunt Jury, “is I been a good nuss to you, an’ tooken keer 0’ you sence de day you was bawn? Answer me a “Ves” the girl returned wonderingly. ‘‘ Wellum, don’t fergit it. Kase I’m gwine ax you to make me a promise. Don’t sign no papeh twell we find de one which de Prophet stole. Will you promise me ’at, ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, Miss Lynnie? Will you, Miss Lynnie, honey—jist to please a ol’ woman which is almost in huh grave?” There was something infinitely touching in her humble tones. ‘““T promise,” said Lynnie slowly. ‘““ Dah, now!” exclaimed Aunt Jury in a relieved voice. “Dah, now! An’ you look mighty pale an’ peaked, honey. Lemme git you a glass o’ Sefonee’s milk!” Lynnie was thoughtfully sipping her milk. “J think, Aunt Jury, that if we don’t find the paper to-day, we’d better go right on to Cousin Horace’s—” The old woman busied herself around the kitchen a while before answering. Finally she said a little wistfully: “ I’d like mighty well to stay de month out, honey. I’se got a chance to be rich—an’ by de work 0’ my own hands. Hit was foreordained to me by a boss fortune teller.” “To get rich? How?” ‘Do you mind de day, a-comin’ here, we stop on de burnin’ sand? Wellum, de shiney lady which she calls herself Miz Dudlin Ricketts—she say she gimme five dollars fer every night I cooks dinner foh her. An’ mo’ dan ’at—she say she gwine give a bang-up quality dinner party in *bout two weeks an’ she say she gimme fifty dol- lars—” “Why, how outrageous of her—” Lyn- nie began hotly. ““ Sho’ly, honey, sho’ly,” Aunt Jury spoke soothingly. “’At’s what I tells her! But I was thinkin’-—she don’t have her dinner twell eight o’clock in de night time—” ‘Look here, Aunt Jury—do you want to cook dinners for that woman? Don’t beat around the bush—” “Wellum, I’m through yo’ dinner by early candle lightin’. An’ is I ever tell you *bout Sis Dicey Smailes?”’ ‘What about her?” said Lynnie crisply, but her face had softened. She couldn’t be angry with old Aunt Jury. Aunt Jury closed her eyes and rocked on her heels. “OP Sis Dicey which she is a fortune teller bawn, done told me once outen coffee sroun’s ’at I’m gwine ter be rich! An’ by de labors 0’ my own hands, Sis Dicey, she also say!” conniichotks.co