My papa put some burnt cork on his face in the Knights er Pythi's
minstrels and I know where we can get some to make us black; you
go get Miss Minerva's ink bottle too, that'll help some, and get
some matches, and I'll go get the cork and we can go to Sarah
Jane's house and make usselfs black."
"I ain't never promise not to black up and go down to the depot,"
said Billy waveringly. "I promise not to never be no mo' Injun
--I--"
"Well, run then," Jimmy interrupted impatiently. "We'll just
slip down to the railroad and take a look at the niggers. You
don't hafto get on the train just 'cause you down to the depot."
So Miss Minerva's nephew, after tiptoeing into the house for
her ink bottle and filling his pockets with contraband matches,
met his chum at the cabin. There, under the critical survey of
Bennie Dick from his customary place on the floor, they darkened
their faces, heads, hands, feet, and legs; then, pulling their
caps over their eyes, these energetic little boys stole out of
the back gate and fairly flew down an alley to the station.
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