Cunnel, you's boun' to 'member Jube—he's porter for de fines' near-beer saloon in Vicksburg, right dis day. Jube works all de time."
"Yes, I know Jube," the Colonel answered, and his face showed that he thought there might be a grain of sense in Zack's suggestion. Anyway it was a straw, and McDonald caught at it, drawing his chair closer and asking, "Now, Zack, please explain your proposition. What can be done?"
"Easy 'nuff, Mister Bim. I ain't promisin' nothin' what I can't do. Lemme fry up a lot o' catfish, an' start dese niggers to eatin' it. D'ain't no way fer 'em to git money 'cept by workin in de fiel'. An' d'ain't no way to git catfish widout money. Here's yo' hongry nigger, dar's yo' cat fish an' yonder's de plow-handles—ain't dat reasonable?"
"Suppose they don't like cooked fish?" objected the Bimbashi.
"Lordee, Mister Bim, ev'y nigger's 'bleeged to love catfish, jes' soon's he gits a taste. At de fust off-startin' I'll give ev'y one of 'em a little piece." Old Reliable chuckled to himself, "One time I went on a 'scussion to Memphis. De butcher-boy what peddles apples an' oranges, he come 'long wid peanuts an' never sold nary sack. Dat boy knowed niggers from de groun' up. Atter while he walks throo, whistlin', wid a pocket full o' peanuts, an' draps two on ev'y seat. Den he fol-
