Tom Swift in the City of Gold | Page 9

have you in jail for that! Look at my
hat, it's ruined! Look at my clothes! They're ruined! Oh, I'll make you
pay for this!"
"Deed, it shore was a accident," said Eradicate, trying not to laugh.
"You done did it yo'se'f!"
"I did not! You did it on purpose; Tom Swift put you in on this!
I'll--I'll--"
But Andy had to stop and splutter for some of the lime ran down off his
hat into his mouth, and he yelled:
"I'll--I'll--Ouch! Phew! Woof! Oof! Oh!"
Then, in his rage, he made a blind rush for Eradicate. Now the colored
man had no fear of Andy, but he did not want the pail of whitewash to
upset, and the said pail was right in the path of the advancing youth.
"Look out!" cried Eradicate.
"I'll make you look out!" spluttered Andy. "I'll thrash you for this!"
Eradicate caught up his pail. He did not want to have the trouble of
mixing more of the liquid. Just as he lifted it Andy aimed a kick for
him. But he mis-calculated, and his foot struck the bottom of the pail
and sent it flying from the hands of the colored man. Sent it flying right
toward Andy himself, for Eradicate jumped back out of the way.
And the next moment a veritable deluge of whitewash was sprayed and
splashed and splattered over Andy, covering him with the snowy liquid
from head to foot!
CHAPTER IV
A PERILOUS FLIGHT

There was silence for a moment--there had to be--for Eradicate was
doubled over with mirth and could not even laugh aloud, and as for
Andy the whitewash running down his face and over his mouth
effectually prevented speech. But the silence did not last long.
Just as Eradicate caught his breath, and let out a hearty laugh, Andy
succeeded in wiping some of the liquid from his face so that it was safe
to open his mouth. Then he fairly let out a roar of rage.
"I'll have you put in jail far that, Eradicate Sampson!" he cried. "You've
nearly killed me: You'll suffer for this! My father will sue you for
damages, too! Look at me! Look at me!"
"Dat's jest what I'se doin', honey! Jest what I'se doin'!" gasped
Eradicate, hardly able to speak from laughter. "Yo' suah am a most
contrary lookin' specimen! Yo' suah is! Ha! Ha!"
"Stop it!" commanded Andy. "Don't you dare laugh at me, after
throwing whitewash on me."
"I didn't throw no whitewash on you!" protested the colored man. "Yo'
done poured it over yo'se'f, dat's what yo' done did. An' I jest cain't help
laughin', honey. I jest natchally cain't! Yo' look so mortally distressed,
dat's what yo' does!"
Andy's rage might have been dangerous, but the very excess of it
rendered him incapable of doing anything. He was wild at Eradicate
and would willingly have attacked him, but the whitewash was
beginning to soak through his clothes, and he was so wet and miserable
that soon all the fight oozed out of him.
Then, too, though Eradicate was old, he was strong and he still held the
long handle of the whitewash brush, no unformidable weapon. So Andy
contented himself with verbal abuse. He called Eradicate all the mean
names he could think of, ending up with:
"You won't hear the last of this for a long time, either. I'll have you, and
your old rack of bones, your mule Boomerang, run out of town, that's

what I will."
"What's dat? Yo' all gwine t'hab Boomerang run out ob town?"
demanded Eradicate, a sudden change coming over him. His mule was
his most beloved possession. "Lemme tell yo' one thing, Massa Andy.
I'se an old colored man, an' I ain't much 'count mebby. But ef yo' dare
lay one finger on mah mule Boomerang, only jest one finger, mind you',
why I'll--I'll jest natchally drown yo'--all in whitewash, dat's what I'll
do!"
Eradicate drew himself up proudly, and boldly faced Andy. The bully
shrank back. He knew better than to arouse the colored man further.
"You'll suffer for this," predicted the bully. "For not going to forget it.
Tom Swift put you up to this, and I'll take it out of him the next time I
see him. He's to blame."
"Now looky heah, honey!" said Eradicate quick. "Doan't yo' all git no
sich notion laik dat in yo' head. Massa Tom didn't tell me to do noth'in
an I ain't. He ain't eben 'round yeh. An' annudder thing. Yo'se t' blame
to' this yo' own se'f. Ef yo' hadn't gone fo' is kick de bucket it nebber
would 'a happened. It's yo' own fault, honey, an' doan't yo' forgit dat!
No, yo' better go home an' git some dry clothes on."
It was good advice,