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Page 13
"'Oman," he addressed Aunt Basha, "Unc' Sam got lots o' money. What use
he gwine have, great big rich man lak Unc' Sam, fo' yo' two hun'erd? But
we got mighty lot o' use fo' dat money, we'uns. An' you gwine gib dat
away? Thes lak a 'oman!" which, in other forms, is an argument used by
male people of many classes.
Aunt Basha suggested that Young Marse David said something about a piece
of paper and Uncle Sam paying back, but Jeems pooh-poohed that.
"Naw, sir. When big rich folks goes round collectin' po' folkses money,
is dey liable to pay back? What good piece o' paper gwine do you? Is dey
aimin' to let you see de color ob dat money agin? Naw, sir. Dey am not."
He proceeded to another branch of the subject. "War ain' gwine las'
long, nohow. Young Ananias he gwine to Franch right soon, an' de yether
colored brothers. De Germans dey ain't gwine las' long, once ef dey see
us Anglo-Saxons in de scrablin'. Naw, sir.
"White man what come hyer yether day, he say how dey ain't gwine 'low de
colored sojers to fight," suggested Aunt Basha. German propaganda
reaches far and takes strange shapes.
"Don' jer go to b'lieve dat white man, 'oman," thundered Jeems, thumping
with his fist. "He dunno nawthin', an' I reckon he's a liar. Unc' Sam he
say we kin fight an' we _gwine_ fight. An' de war ain't las' long atter
we git to fightin' good."
Aunt Basha, her hands folded on the rounded volume of apron considered
deeply. After a time she arrived at a decision.
"Jeems," she began, "yo' cert'nly is a strong reasoner. Yassir. But I
got it bo'ne in upon me powerful dat I gotter give dese yer savin's to
Unc' Sam. It's my country too, Jeems, same as dem sojers what's
fightin', dem boys in de mud what ain' got a soul to wash fo' 'em. An'
lak as not dey mas not dere. Dem boys is fightin', and gittin' wet and
hunted up lak young marse say, fo' Aunt Basha and--bress dere
hearts"--Aunt Basha broke down, and the upshot was that Jeems washed his
hands of an obstinate female and--the savings not being his in any
case--gave unwilling consent.
Youth of the sterner set is apt to be casual in making appointments. It
had not entered Lance's head to arrange in case he was not at the
office. As for Aunt Basha, her theory was that he reigned there over an
army of subordinates from morning till evening. So that she was taken
aback when told that Mr. Lance was out and no one could say when he
would be in. She had risen at dawn and done her housework and much of
the fine washing which she "took in," and had then arrayed herself in
her best calico dress and newest turban and apron for the great occasion
and had reported at the _Daybreak_ office at nine-thirty. And young
marse wasn't there.
"I'll set and rest ontwell he comes in," she announced, and retired to
a chair against the wall.
There she folded her hands statelily and sat erect, motionless, an image
of fine old dignity. But much thinking was going on inside the calm
exterior. What was she going to do if young marse did not come back? She
had the $200 with her, carefully pinned and double pinned into a pocket
in her purple alpaca petticoat. She did not want to take it home. Jeems
had submitted this morning, but with mutterings, and a second time there
might be trouble. The savings were indeed hers, but a rebellious husband
in high finance is an embarrassment. Deeply Aunt Basha considered, and
memory whispered something about a bank. Young marse was going to the
bank with her to give her money to Uncle Sam. She had just passed a
bank. Why could she not go alone? Somebody certainly would tell her what
to do. Possibly Uncle Sam was there himself--for Aunt Basha's conception
of our national myth was half mystical, half practical--as a child with
Santa Claus. In any case banks were responsible places, and somebody
would look after her. She crossed to the desk where two or three young
men appeared to be doing most of the world's business.
"Marsters!"
The three looked up.
"Good mawnin', young marsters. I'm 'bleeged to go now. I cert'nly thank
you-all fo' lettin' me set in de cheer. I won't wait fo' marse David
Lance no mo', sir. Good mawnin', marsters."
A smiling courtesy dropped, and she was gone.
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