Every time the cruel whip comes down and the horses dance
under it, the women peering out of the front windows wince, and
cluck "Tchk! Ain't it terrible? He ought to be arrested." This way
and that the team turns and tugs, but all in vain. Somebody puts
on his rubber boots and wades out to help, fearing not the muddy
spokes. Yo hee! Yo hee! No use. He talks it over with the
teamster. You can hear him say: "Well, suit yourself. If you want
to stay here all night."
And then the women exult: "Goody! Goody! Serves him right. Now
he has to take off some of the stone. Lazy man's load!"
The mother of children flies to the back-door when school lets out.
"Don't you come in here with all that mud!" she squalls excitedly.
"Look at you! A peck o' dirt on each foot. Right in my nice clean
kitchen that I just scrubbed. Go 'long now and clean your shoes.
Go 'long, I tell you. Slave and slave for you and that's all the
thanks I get. You'd keep the place looking like a hogpen, if I
wasn't at you all the time. I never saw such young ones since the
day I was made. Never. Whoopin' and hollerin' and trackin' in and
out. It's enough to drive a body crazy."
(Don't you care. It's just her talk. If it isn't one thing it's
another, cleaning your shoes, or combing your hair, or brushing your
clothes, or using your handkerchief, or shutting the door softly,
or holding your spoon with your fingers and not in your fist, or
keeping your finger out of your glass when you drink - something the
whole blessed time.
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