Rare Earth
had carved the head of the cane in the features of an old colored man with a bald head.
"This yere 's a white man's cane," he chuckled. "You see he pushes on the old slave-feller to keep in his high position. Colored man's hair's all worn off 'cause he's forced to carry de burden o' the white man."
He did not speak in malice. Enoch never did. He hardly ever got angry. His nature was easy-going, gentle. Once when someone commented on the fact that he had such an excellent disposition, he replied, "Too lazy, I 'spects, to get mad. Much easier to grin. My disposition is no worse than any other man's, but I sleep so much I don' seem to get around to gettin' mad."
Once in France when his comrades had teased him about his amiable manner, he had taken the chaffing good-naturedly.
"Might as well run dis yere war like we were genteel folks," he drawled. "Anyhow I'm goin' to be polite. I don't want to kill no man but if I has to, I'm goin' to walk up to him an
say, 'Pardon me, sir, but my country is under
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