PAGE 7
"Blink"
by
And Blink wisely winked his knowing eyes. That he had, indeed, never proclaimed his roosterhood by crowing was a source of some anxiety to mammy.
“Maybe Blink don’t know he’s a rooster,” she confided to Evelyn one day. “Sho ‘nough, honey, he nuver is seen none! De neares’ ter ‘isse’f what he knows is dat ole green polly what set in de fig-tree nex’ do’, an’ talk Gascon. I seed Blink ‘is tid day stan’ an’ look at’ im, an’ den look down at ‘isse’f, same as ter say, ‘Is I a polly, or what?’ An’ den ‘e open an’ shet ‘is mouf, like ‘e tryin’ ter twis’ it, polly fashion, an’ hit won’t twis’, an’ den ‘e des shaken ‘is head, an’ walk orf, like ‘e heavy-hearted an’ mixed in ‘is mind. Blink don’t know what ‘spornsibility lay on ‘im ter keep our courage up. You heah me, Blink! Open yo’ mouf, an’ crow out, like a man!”
But Blink was biding his time.
During this time, in spite of strictest economy, money was going out faster than it came in.
“I tell yer what I been thinkin’, baby,” said mammy, as she and Evelyn discussed the situation. “I think de bes’ thing you can do is ter hire me out. I can cook you alls breckfus’ soon, an’ go out an’ make day’s work, an’ come home plenty o’ time ter cook de little speck o’ dinner you an’ ole boss needs.”
“Oh no, no! You mustn’t think of it, mammy.”
“But what we gwine do, baby? We des can’t get out’n money. Hit won’t do !”
“Maybe I should have taken that position as lady’s companion, mammy.”
“An’ stay ‘way all nights f’om yo’ pa, when you de onlies’ light ter ‘is eyes? No, no, honey!”
“But it has been my only offer, and sometimes I think–“
“Hush talkin’ dat-a-way, baby. Don’t yer pray? An’ don’t yer trus’ Gord? An’ ain’t yer done walked de streets tell you mos’ drapped down, lookin’ fur work? An’ can’t yer teck de hint dat de Lord done laid off yo’ work right heah in the house ? You go ‘long now, an’ cheer up yo’ pa, des like you been doin’, an’ study yo’ books, an’ write down true joy an’ true sorrer in yo’ stories, an’ glorify Gord wid yo’ sense, an’ don’t pester yo’se’f ’bout to-day an’ to-morrer, an’–an’–an’ ef de gorspil is de trufe, an’–an’ ef a po’ ole nigger’s prayers mounts ter heaven on de wings o’ faith, Gord ain’t gwine let a hair o’ yo’ head perish.”
But mammy pondered in her heart much concerning the financial outlook, and it was on the day after this conversation that she dressed herself with unusual care, and, without announcing her errand, started out.
Her return soon brought its own explanation, however, for upon her old head she bore a huge bundle of unlaundered clothing.
“What in the world!” exclaimed Evelyn; but before she could voice a protest, mammy interrupted her.
“Nuver you mind, baby! I des waked up,” she exclaimed, throwing her bundle at the kitchen door. “I been preachin’ ter you ’bout teckin’ hints, an’ ‘ain’t been readin’ my own lesson. Huccome we got dis heah nice sunny back yard, an’ dis bustin’ cisternful o’ rain-water? Huccome de boa’din’-house folks at de corner keeps a-passin’ an’ a-passin’ by dis gate wid all dey fluted finery on, ef ‘twarn’t ter gimme a hint dat dey’s wealth a-layin’ at de do’, an’ me, bline as a bat, ‘ain’t seen it?”
“Oh, but, mammy, you can’t take in washing. You are too old; it is too hard. You mustn’t –“
“Ef-ef-ef-ef you gits obstropulous, I-I-I gwine whup yer, sho. Y-y-yer know how much money’s a-comin’ out’n dat bundle, baby? Five dollars! ” This in a stage-whisper. “An’ not a speck o’ dirt on nothin’; des baby caps an’ lace doin’s rumpled up.”