Kennedy Square | Page 4

'fo' you catch yo' dea'f. I gin ye fair warnin' right now
dat I ain't gwineter nuss ye,--d'ye yere?--standin' out dar like a tarr-pin
wid yo' haid out. Go in I tell ye!" and she shut the window with a bang
and made her way to the kitchen.
Todd kept up his double shuffle with everything going--hands, feet, and
knees--thrashed his arms about his chest and back to keep up the
circulation and with a final grimace in the direction of the old cook
maintained his watch.
"I spec's it's de fog dat's kep' 'em," he muttered anxiously, his feet still
in action. "Dat bay boat's mos' allus late,--can't tell when she'll git in.
Only las' week--Golly!--dar he is--DAT'S HIM!"
A mud-bespattered gig was swinging around the corner into the Square,
and with a swerve in its course was heading to where Todd stood.

The boy sprang down the steps:
"Yere he is, Aunt Jemima!" he shouted, as if the old cook could have
heard him through three brick walls.
The gig came to a stand-still and began to unload: first the dogs, who
had been stowed under their master's feet since they left the steamboat
wharf, and who with a clear bound to the sidewalk began scouring in
mad circles, one after another, up and down Todd's immaculate steps,
the four in full cry until the entire neighborhood was aroused, the late
sleepers turning over with the remark--"Temple's at home," and the
early risers sticking their heads out of the windows to count the ducks
as they were passed out. Next the master: One shapely leg encased in
an English-made ducking boot, then its mate, until the whole of his
handsome, well-knit, perfectly healthy and perfectly delightful body
was clear of the cramped conveyance.
"Hello, Todd!" he burst out, his face aglow with his drive from the
boat-landing--"glad to see you! Here, take hold of these guns---easy
now, they won't hurt you; one at a time, you lunkhead! And now pull
those ducks from under the seat. How's Aunt Jemima?--Oh, is that you
aunty?" She had come on the run as soon as she heard the dogs.
"Everything all right, aunty--howdy--" and he shook her hand heartily.
The old woman had made a feint to pull her sleeves down over her
plump black arms and then, begrudging the delay, had grasped his
outstretched hand, her face in a broad grin.
"Yes, sah, dat's me. Clar' to goodness, Marse George, I's glad ter git ye
home. Lawd-a-massy, see dem ducks! Purty fat, ain't dey, sah?
My!--dat pair's jes' a-bustin'! G'long you fool nigger an' let me hab 'em!
G'way f'om dere I tell ye!"
"No,--you pick them up, Todd--they're too heavy for you, aunty. You
go back to your kitchen and hurry up breakfast--waffles,
remember,--and some corn pone and a scallop shell or two--I'm as
hungry as a bear."

The whole party were mounting the steps now, St. George carrying the
guns, Todd loaded down with the game--ten brace of canvas-backs and
redheads strung together by their bills--the driver of the gig following
with the master's big ducking overcoat and smaller traps--the four dogs
crowding up trying to nose past for a dash into the wide hall as soon as
Todd opened the door.
"Anybody been here lately, Todd?" his master asked, stopping for a
moment to get a better grip of his heaviest duck gun.
"Ain't nobody been yere partic'ler 'cept Mister Harry Rutter. Dey alls
knowed you was away. Been yere mos' ev'ry day--come ag'in
yisterday."
"Mr. Rutter been here!--Well, what did he want?"
"Dunno, sah,--didn't say. Seemed consid'ble shook up when he foun'
you warn't to home. I done tol' him you might be back to-day an' den
ag'in you mightn't--'pended on de way de ducks was flyin'. Spec' he'll
be roun' ag'in purty soon--seemed ter hab sumpin' on his min'. I'll tu'n
de knob, sah. Yere--git down, you imp o' darkness,--you Floe!--you
Dandy! Drat dem dogs!--Yere, YERE!" but all four dogs were inside
now, making a sweepstakes of the living-room, the rugs and cushions
flying in every direction.
Although Todd had spent most of the minutes since daylight peering up
and down the Square, eager for the first sight of the man whom he
loved with an idolatry only to be found in the negro for a white man
whom he respects, and who is kind to him, he had not neglected any of
his other duties. There was a roaring wood fire behind brass andirons
and fender. There was a breakfast table set for two--St. George's
invariable custom. "Somebody might drop in, you know, Todd." There
was a big easy-chair moved up within warming distance of the cheery
blaze; there were pipes and tobacco within reach of the master's hand;
there was the weekly newspaper folded neatly