mighty solemn. Then McDonald closed the book and asked, "By what process of reasoning did you reach the same conclusion? That's what you've been pondering about?"
"Naw suh, Mister Bim, I ain't been ponderin' none. I been studyin' an' thinkin' so hard I ain't had no time fer to ponder."
Impulsively McDonald sprang from his chair, rushed to the Colonel's door, and called, "Oh, Colonel! Be so kind as to come here. Zack has a jolly good idea, exactly in line with what I was reading you last night from Von Gaben."
"Let's have it, Zack." The Colonel came out smiling and sat down. McDonald remained standing. Zack laced his fingers, and clasped them around his knees. "Cunnel, I wants to start a catfish stan'. Jes' soon as dese niggers gits a taste o' hot cat, dey sho will work fer money to buy mo'." Colonel Spottiswoode glanced at McDonald and would have laughed, but the Scotchman looked so desperately in earnest that he couldn't pass it off as a joke.
"What makes you think so, Zack?"
"I don't think it, Cunnel—I knows dat. You 'member dat greasy-faced yaller nigger named Jube? Shoes laced up wid white strings? Jube sho' was one triflin' nigger. Never done nothin' 'cept set down an' wait till time come to quit work. Gardenin' time er cotton pickin' time,
