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Marquis, Don, 1878-1937

"Danny's Own Story"

We wasted
all that day. They was something work-
ing in the doctor's head he wasn't talking about.
I supposed he was getting cold feet on the hull
proposition. Anyhow, he jest set around the little
tavern in that place and done nothing all afternoon.
The weather was fine, and we set out in front.
We hadn't set there more'n an hour till I could
tell we was being noticed by the blacks, not
out open and above board. But every now and
then one or two or three would pass along down
the street, and lazy about and take a look at us.
They pertended they wasn't noticing, but they was.
The word had got around, and they was a feeling
in the air I didn't like at all. Too much caged-up
excitement among the niggers. The doctor felt
it too, I could see that. But neither one of us said
anything about it to the other.
Along toward dusk we takes a walk. They was
a good-sized crick at the edge of that little place,
and on it an old-fashioned worter mill. Above
the mill a little piece was a bridge. We crossed it
and walked along a road that follered the crick
bank closte fur quite a spell.
It wasn't much of a town--something betwixt a
village and a settlement--although they was going
to run a branch of the railroad over to it before very
long. It had had a chancet to get a railroad once,
years before that.


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