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“‘Hi!’ I say, ‘P’laski, what air a tunament?’ I mecked out, you see, like I ain’ recognizated what he meck correspondence to; an’ he start to say, ‘A tunament, pa–‘ but I retch for a barrel hoop whar layin’ by kine o’ amiable like, an’ he stop, like young mule whar see mud-puddle in de road, an’ say, ‘A tunament–a tunament is whar you gits ‘pon a hoss wid a pole, an’ rides hard as you kin, an’ pokes de pole at a ring, an’–‘ When he gets right dyah, I interrup’s him, an’ I say, ‘P’laski,’ says I, ‘I’s raised wid de fust o’ folks, ‘cuz I’s raised wid de Ma-conses at Doc’ Macon’s in Hanover, an’ I’s spectated fish fries, an’ festibals, an’ bobby-cues; but I ain’ nuver witness nuttin’ like dat–a nigger ridin’ ‘pon a hoss hard as he kin stave, an’ nominatin’ of it a tunament,’ I says. ‘You’s talkin’ ’bout a hoss-race,’ I says, ”cuz dat’s de on’yes’ thing,’ I says, ‘a nigger rides in.’ You know, suh,” he broke in suddenly, “you and I’s seen many a hoss-race, ‘cuz we come f’om hoss kentry, right down dyah f’om whar Marse Torm Doswell live, an’ we done see hoss-races whar wuz hoss-races sho ‘nough, at the ole Fyarfiel’ race-co’se, whar hosses used to run could beat buds flyin’ an’ so I tole him. I tole him I nuver heah nobody but a po’ white folks’ nigger call a hoss-race a tunament; an’ I tole him I reckon de pole he talkin’ ’bout wuz de hick’ry dee used to tune de boys’ backs wid recasionally when dee didn’ ride right. Dat cut him down might’ly, ‘cuz dat ermine him o’ de hick’ries I done wyah out ‘pon him; but he say, ‘Nor, ’tis a long pole whar you punch th’oo a ring, an’ de one whar punch de moes, he crown de queen.’ I tole him dat de on’yes’ queen I uver heah ’bout wuz a cow ole master had, whar teck de fust prize at de State fyah in Richmond one year; but he presist dat this wuz a tunament queen, and he warn three dollars an’ a half to get him a new shut an’ to pay he part ov de supper. Den I tole him ef he think I gwine give him three dollars an’ a half for dat foolishness he mus’ think I big a fool as he wuz. Wid dat he begin to act kine o’ aggervated, which I teck for incidence, ‘cuz I nuver could abeah chillern ner women to be sullen roun’ me; an’ I gi’ him de notification dat ef I cotch him foolin’ wid any tunament I gwine ride him tell he oon know when he ain’t a mule hisself; an’ I gwine have hick’ry pole dyah too. Den I tolt him he better go ‘long back to ole Mis’ Twine, whar I done hire him to; an’ when he see me pick up de barrel hoop an’ start to roll up my sleeve, he went; an’ I heah he jine dat Jim Sinkfiel’, an’ dat’s what git me into all dat tribilation.”

“What got you in?” I inquired, in some doubt as to his meaning.

“Dat tunament, suh. P’laski rid it! An’ what’s mo,’ suh, he won de queen,–one o’ ole man Bob Sibley’s impident gals,–an’ when he come to crown her, he crown her wid ole Mis’ Twine’s weddin’-ring!”

There was a subdued murmur of amusement in the group behind him, and I could not but inquire how he came to perform so extraordinary a ceremony.

“Dat I don’ know, suh; but so ‘twair. Fust information I had on it wuz when I went down to ole Mis’ Twine’s to get he mont’s weges. I received de ontelligence on de way dat he had done lef dyah, an’ dat ole Mis’ Twine gol’ ring had lef by de same road at de same time. Dat correspondence mortify me might’ly’ cuz I hadn’ raised P’laski no sich a ways as dat. He was dat ooman’s son to be sho’ an’ I knowed he wuz wuthless, but still I hadn’ respect him to steal ole Mis’ Twine wed-din’-ring, whar she wyah on her finger ev’y day, an’ whar wuz gol’ too. I want de intimation ’bout de fo’ dollars an’ a half, so I went ‘long; but soon as ole Mis’ Twine see me she began to quoil. I tell her I just come to git de reasonment o’ de matter, an’ I ‘ain’ got nuthin’ ‘tall to say ’bout P’laski. Dat jes like bresh on fire; she wuss’n befo’. She so savigrous I tolt her I ‘ain’ nuver had nobody to prevaricate nuttin’ ’bout me; dat I b’longst to Doc’ Macon, o’ Hanover, an’ I ax her ef she knowed de Maconses. She say, nor, she ‘ain’ know ’em, nor she ain’ nuver hearn on ’em, an’ she wished she hadn’ nuver hearn on me an’ my thievin’ boy–dat’s P’laski. Well, tell then, I mighty consarned ’bout P’laski; but when she said she ‘ain’ nuver hearn on the Maconses, I ain’ altogether b’lieve P’laski done teck her ring, cause I ain’ know whether she got any ring; though I know sence the tunament he mean enough for anything; an’ I tolt her so, an’ I tolt her I wuz raised wid quality–sence she ain’ know the Maconses, I ain’ tole her no mo’ ’bout dem, ‘cuz de Bible say you is not to cast pearls befo’ hawgs–an’ dat I had tote de corn-house keys many a time, an’ Marth’ Ann used to go in ole Mistis’ trunks same as ole Mistis herself. Right dyah she mought ‘a’ cotch me ef she had knowed that P’laski warn’ Marth’ Ann’s son; but she ain’ know de Maconses, an’ in cose she ain’ ‘quainted wid de servants, so she don’ know it. Well, suh, she rar an’ she pitch. Yo’ nuver heah a ooman talk so befo’ in yo’ life; an’ fust thing I knew she gone in de house, she say she gwine git a gun an’ run me off dat lan’, But I ain’ wait for dat: don nobody have to git gun to run me off dee lan’. I jes teck my foot in my han’ an’ come ‘long way by myself, ‘cuz I think maybe a ooman ‘at could cuss like a man mout shoot like a man too.”