His shrewdness and courage were making good his
lack of inches. Above all, he was in favor with the "head Linkum
man," and Zany belonged to that class ever ready to greet the rising
sun. While all this was true, she could not be herself and abandon
her coquettish impulses and disposition to tease. She came slowly
from the dining-room and looked over Chunk's head as if she could
not see him. Bent on retaliation, he stepped behind her, lifted her
in his powerful arms and carried her on a full run to some screening
shrubbery, the irate captive cuffing his ear soundly all the way.
Setting her down, he remarked quietly, "Now I reckon you kin fin'
me."
"Yo' wool git gray 'fo' you fin' me agin," she replied, making a
feint of starting for the house.
"Berry well, Miss Zany. I see you doan want ter be a free gyurl.
I'se tell Marse Scoville you no 'count niggah."
"W'at you want anyhow, imperdence?"
"I wants sup'n ter eat. Does you 'spects I kin ride all night en all
day ter brung you freedom, en den not eben git a good word? You ain'
fit fer freedom.
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