Grandison’s Quandary
by
Grandison Pratt was a colored man of about thirty, who, with his wife and two or three children, lived in a neat log cabin in one of the Southern States. He was a man of an independent turn of mind, and he much desired to own the house in which he lived and the small garden-patch around it. This valuable piece of property belonged to Mr. Morris, and as it was an outlying corner of his large farm he had no objection to sell it to Grandison, provided the latter could pay for it; but of this he had great doubts. The man was industrious enough, but he often seemed to have a great deal of difficulty about paying the very small rental charged for his place, and Mr. Morris, consequently, had well-grounded doubts about his ability to purchase it.
“But, sah,” said Grandison one day when these objections had been placed before him, “I’s been turnin’ dis thing ober in my min’ ober an’ ober. I know jes’ how much I kin make an’ how much I’s got to spend an’ how I kin save ter buy the house, an’ if I agree to pay you so much money on such a day an’ so much on such anudder day I’s gwine ter do it. You kin jes’ put that down, sah, for sartin shuh.”
“Well, Grandison,” said Mr. Morris, “I’ll give you a trial. If, at the end of six months, you can pay me the first instalment, I’ll have the necessary papers made out, and you can go on and buy the place, but if you are not up to time on the first payment, I want to hear no more about the purchase.”
“All right, Mahs’r Morris,” said Grandison. “If I gibs you my word ter pay de money on de fus’ day ob October, I’s gwine to do it. Dat’s sartin shuh.”
Months passed on, and, although Grandison worked as steadily as usual, he found toward the end of September that, in the ordinary course of things, he would not be able to make up the sum necessary for the first payment. Other methods out of the ordinary course came into his mind, but he had doubts about availing himself of them. He was extremely anxious to make up the amount due, for he knew very well that if he did not pay it on the day appointed he might bid farewell to his hope of becoming a freeholder. In his perplexity he resolved to consult Brother ‘Bijah, the minister of the little church in the pine-woods to which Grandison belonged.
“Now, look-a-heah, Brudder ‘Bijah,” said he, “wot’s I gwine to do ’bout dis bizness? I done promised ter pay dis money on de fus’ day ob de comin’ month, an’ dar’s six dollars ob it dat I ain’t got yit.”
“An’ aint dar any way ter git it?” asked ‘Bijah.
“Yaas, dar’s one way,” said Grandison, “I’s been turnin’ dis matter ober an’ ober in my min’, an’ dar’s only one way. I mought sell apples. Apples is mighty skarse dis fall, an’ I kin git two dollars a bar’l for ’em in town. Now, if I was ter sell three bar’ls of apples I’d hab dat dar six dollars, sartin shuh. Don’ you see dat, Brudder ‘Bijah?”
“Dat’s all clar ‘nuf,” said the minister, “but whar you gwine ter git three bar’ls o’ apples? You don’ mean ter tell me dat you’s got ‘nuf apple-trees in your little gyardin fur ter shake down three bar’ls o’ apples.”
“Now look a-heah, Brudder ‘Bijah,” said Grandison, his eyes sparkling with righteous indignation, “dat’s too much ‘to ‘spec’ ob a man who’s got ter work all day to s’port his wife an’ chillun. I digs, an’ I plows, an’ I plants, an’ I hoes. But all dem things ain’t ‘nuf ter make apple-trees grow in my gyardin like as dey was corn-field peas.”