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Page 15
"It's all hyer, marster. It's two hun'erd dollars, sir. I ben savin' up
fo' twenty years an' mo', and me'n Jeems, we ben countin' it every mont,
so I reckon I knows."
The man and the girl regarded the old woman a moment. "It's a large sum
for you to invest," Mr. Davidson said.
"Yassir. Yas, marster. It's right smart money. But I sho' am glad to gib
dis hyer to Unc' Sam for dem boys."
The cashier of the Ninth National Bank lifted his eyes from the blank he
was filling out and looked at Aunt Basha thoughtfully. "You understand,
of course, that the Government--Uncle Sam--is only borrowing your money.
That you may have it back any time you wish."
Aunt Basha drew herself up. "I don' wish it, sir. I'm gibin' dis hyer
gif,' a free gif' to my country. Yassir. It's de onliest country I got,
an' I reckon I got a right to gib dis hyer what I earned doin' fine
washin' and i'nin. I gibs it to my country. I don't wan' to hyer any
talk 'bout payin' back. Naw, sir."
It took Mr. Davidson and the vision at least ten minutes to make clear
to Aunt Basha the character and habits of a Liberty Bond, and then,
though gratified with the ownership of what seemed a brand new $200 and
a valuable slip of paper--which meandered, shamelessly into the purple
alpaca petticoat--yet she was disappointed.
"White folks sho' am cu'is," she reflected, "Now who'd 'a thought 'bout
dat way ob raisin' money! Not me--no, Lawd! It do beat me." With that
she threw an earnest glance at Mr. Davidson, lean and tall and gray,
with a clipped pointed beard. "'Scuse me, marster," said Aunt Basha,
"mout I ask a quexshun?"
"Surely," agreed Mr. Davidson blandly.
"Is you'--'scuse de ole 'oman, sir--is you' Unc' Sam?"
The "quexshun" left the personage too staggered to laugh. But the girl
filled the staid place with gay peals. Then she leaned over and patted
the wrinkled and bony worn black knuckles. "Bless your dear heart," she
said; "no, he isn't, Aunt Basha. He's awfully important and good to us
all, and he knows everything. But he's not Uncle Sam."
The bewilderment of the old face melted to smiles. "Dar, now," she
brought out; "I mout 'a know'd, becaze he didn't have no red striped
pants. An' de whiskers is diff'ent, too. 'Scuse me, sir, and thank you
kindly, marster. Thank you, young miss. De Lawd bress you fo' helpin' de
ole 'oman." She had risen and she dropped her old time curtsey at this
point. "Mawnin' to yo', marster and young miss."
But the girl sprang up. "You can't go," she said. "I'm going to take you
to my house to see my grandmother. She's Southern, and our name is
Cabell, and likely--maybe--she knew your people down South."
"Maybe, young miss. Dar's lots o' Cabells," agreed Aunt Basha, and in
three minutes found herself where she had never thought to be, inside a
fine private car.
She was dumb with rapture and excitement, and quite unable to answer the
girl's friendly words except with smiles and nods. The girl saw how it
was and let her be, only patting the calico arm once and again
reassuringly. "I wonder if she didn't want to come. I wonder if I've
frightened her," thought Eleanor Cabell. When into the silence broke
suddenly the rich, high, irresistible music which was Aunt Basha's
laugh, and which David Lance had said was pitched on "Q sharp." The girl
joined the infectious sound and a moment after that the car stopped.
"This is home," said Eleanor.
Aunt Basha observed, with the liking for magnificence of a servant
trained in a large house, the fine fa�ade and the huge size of "home."
In a moment she was inside, and "young miss" was carefully escorting her
into a sunshiny big room, where a wood fire burned, and a bird sang, and
there were books and flowers.
"Wait here, Aunt Basha, dear," Eleanor said, "and I'll get Grandmother."
It was exactly like the loveliest of dreams, Aunt Basha told Jeems an
hour later. It could not possibly have been true, except that it was.
When "Grandmother" came in, slender and white-haired and a bit
breathless with this last surprise of a surprising granddaughter, Aunt
Basha stood and curtsied her stateliest.
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