But somehow,
he don't look drunk. He looks like he had fought
his way up out of it, somehow--his forehead was
sweaty, and they was one intoxicated lock of hair
sticking to it; but that was the only un-sober-
looking thing about him. I guess his legs would
of been unsteady if he had of tried to walk, but his
intellects was uncomfortable and sober.
He is still keeping up that same old argument
with himself, or with the picture.
"It isn't any use," I hearn him say, looking at
the picture.
Then he listened like he hearn it answering him.
"Yes, you always say just that--just that,"
he says. "And I don't know why I keep on listening
to you."
The way he talked, and harkened fur an answer,
when they was nothing there to answer, give me
the creeps.
"You don't help me," he goes on, "you don't
help me at all. You only make it harder. Yes,
this thing is worse than the others. I know that.
But I want money--and fool things like this HAVE
sometimes made it. No, I won't give it up. No,
there's no use making any more promises now.
I know myself now. And you ought to know me
by this time, too. Why can't you let me alone
altogether? I should think, when you see what I
am, you'd let me be.
"God help you! if you'd only stay away it
wouldn't be so hard to go to hell!"
CHAPTER XVI
There's a lot of counties in Georgia where
the blacks are equal in number to the
whites, and two or three counties where
the blacks number over the whites by two to one.
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