"Yessah; vote in all de boxes 'cept'n dis one. Look at dat ticket. Is dat de straight ticket?"
Aleck, who couldn't read the twelve-inch letters of his favourite bar-room sign, took the rat label and examined it critically.
"What ail it?" he asked at length.
The boy pointed at the picture of the rat.
"What dat rat doin', lyin' afar on his back, wid his heels cocked up in de air—'pear ter me lak a rat otter be standin' on his feet?"
Aleck reëxamined it carefully, and then smiled benignly on the youth.
"De ignance er dese folks. What ud yer do widout er man lak me enjued wid de sperit en de power ter splain sings?"
"You sho' got de sperits," said the boy, impudently touching a canteen.
Aleck ignored the remark and looked at the rat label smilingly.
"Ain't we er votin', ter-day, on de Constertooshun what's ter take de ballot away f'um de white folks en gib all de power ter de cullud gemmen—I axes yer dat?"
The boy stuck his thumbs under his arms and walled his eyes.
"Yessah!"
"Den dat means de ratification ob de Constertooshun!"
Phil laughed, followed, and watched them fold their tickets, get in line, and vote the rat labels.
Ben turned toward a white man with gray beard, who stood watching the crowd.
