# Folks from Dixie/Aunt Mandy's Investment

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MR. RUGGLES
AUNT MANDY'S INVESTMENT
The Coloured American Investment Company was organised for the encouragement and benefit of the struggling among Americans of African descent; at least, so its constitution said. Though truth was, Mr. Solomon Ruggles, the efficient president and treasurer of the institution, usually represented the struggling when there were any benefits to receive.
Indeed, Mr. Ruggles was the Coloured American Investment Company. The people whom he persuaded to put their money into his concern were only accessories. Though a man of slight education, he was possessed of a liberal amount of that shrewd wit which allows its possessor to feed upon the credulity of others.
Mr. Ruggle's motto was "It is better to be plausible than right," and he lived up to his principles with a fidelity that would have been commendable in a better cause. He was seldom ​right, but he was always plausible. No one knew better than he how to bring out the good point of a bad article. He would have sold you a blind horse and convinced you that he was doing you a favour in giving you an animal that would not be frightened by anything he saw. No one but he could have been in a city so short a time and yet gained to such an extent the confidence and cash of the people about him.
When a coloured man wishes to start a stock company, he issues a call and holds a mass meeting. This is what Solomon Ruggles did. A good many came. Some spoke for and some against the movement, but the promoter's plausible argument carried the day.
"Gent'men," he said, "my fellow colo'ed brotheren, I jest want to say this to you, that we Af'-Americans been ca'yin' a leaky bucket to the well too long. We git the stream from the ground, an' back to the ground it goes befoah we kin git any chance to make use o' what we've drawed. But, not to speak in meterphers, this is what I mean. I mean that we work for the white folks for their money. All they keer about us is ouah work, an' all we keer ​about them is their money; but what do we do with it when we git it? I'll tell you what we do with it; we take an' give it right back to the white folks fu' somef'n' or other we want, an' so they git ouah labor, an' oh money to. Ain't that the truth?"
There were cries of "Yes, indeed, that's so; you're right, sho!"
"Well, now, do you want this hyeah thing to go on?"
"No!" from a good many voices.
"Then how are we going to stop it?" Mr. Ruggles paused. No one answered. "Why," he resumed, "by buyin' from ourselves, that's how. We all put in so much ev'ry week till we git enough to buy things of ouah own; the we'll jest pat'onise ouahselves. Don't you see it can't fail?"
The audience did.
Brother Jeremiah Buford rose and "hea'tily concuhed in what the brothah had said;" and dapper little Spriggins, who was said to be studying law, and to be altogether as smart as a whip, expressed his pleasure that a man of such enterprise had come among them to wake the coloured people up to a sense for their condition and to ​show them a way out of it. So the idea which had been formulated in the fecund brain of Solomon Ruggles became a living, active reality. His project once on foot, it was easy enough to get himself elected president and treasurer. This was quite little enough to do for a man whose bright idea might make them all rich, so thought the stockholders or prospective stockholders who attended the meeting, and some who came to scoff remained to pay. It was thus that the famous Coloured Improvement Company sprang into life.
It was a Saturday afternoon of the third week after the formation of the company that Mr. Ruggles sat in the "firm's" office alone. There was a cloud upon his face. It was the day when most of the stockholders brought in their money, but there had been a picnic the day before, and in consequence a distinct falling off in the receipts of the concern. This state of affairs especially annoyed the president and treasurer, because that dual official had just involved himself in some new obligations on the strength of what that day would bring him. It was annoying. Was it any wonder, then, that his brow cleared and smile lightened up his ​rather pleasant features when the door opened and an old woman entered?
"Ah, madam, good afternoon," said the Coloured American Investment Company, rubbing its hands; "and what kin I do fer you?"
The old lady timidly approached the table which the official used as a desk. "Is you Mistah Ruggles?" she asked.
"I have the honah to bear that name," was the bland response.
"Well, I got a little money dat I wants to 'vest in yo' company. I 's hyeahd tell dat ef you put yo' money in dere hit jes' lays and grows."
"That's the princerple we go on, to take small investments and give back big profits."
"Well, I 's sho' dat my 'vestment 's small 'noguh, but I been savin' it a mighty long while." The old woman drew a weather-beaten purse from her pocket, and Solomon Ruggle's eyes glistened with expectation as he saw it. His face bell, though, when he saw that it held but little. However, ever little helps, and he brightened again as the old lady counted, slowly and tremblingly, the small store of only five dollars in all.
​Ruggles took the money in his eager palms. "Of course, Mrs. —"
"Mandy Smif 's my name."
"Of course, we can't promise you no fortune in return fu' an investment of fi' dollahs, but we'll do the bes' we kin fu' you."
"I do' want no fortune ner nothin' lak dat. What I wants is a little mo' money — 'cause — 'cause I got a boy; he allus been a good boy to me an' tuk keer o' me, but he thought he would do bettah out West, so he went out dere, an' fu' a while he got along all right an' sent me money reg'lar. Den he took down sick an' got out o' work. It was ha'd fu' me to git along 'dout his he'p, 'cause I 's old. But dat ain't what hu'ts me. I don' keer nuffin' 'bout myse'f. I 's willin' to st'ave ef I could jes' sen' fu' dat boy an' bring him home so 's I could nuss him. Dat 's de reason I 's a-'vestin' dis money."
Solomon Ruggles fingered the bills nervously.
"You know when a boy 's sick dey ain't nobidy kin nuss lak his ow mothah kin, fu' she nussed him when he was a baby; he 's pa't o' huh, an' she knows his natur'. Yo' mothah livin', Mistah Ruggles?"
​"Yes, 'way down South — she 's ve'y ol'."
"I reckon some o' us ol' folks does live too long past dey times."
"No, you don't; you could n't. I wish God the world was full of jest sich ol' people as you an' my mothah is."
"Bless you, honey, I laks to hyeah you talk dat way 'bout yo' mammy. I ain' 'fred to trus' my money wif no man dat knows how to 'spect his mothah." The old woma rose to go. Ruggles followed her to the door. He was trembling with some emotion. He shook the investor warmly by the hand as he bade her good-bye. "I shall do the ve'y bes' I kin fu' you," he said.
"How soon kin I hyeah 'bout it?"
"I've took yo' address, an' you kin expect to hyeah from me in a week's time — that's sooner than we do anything fu' most of ouah customers."
"Thanky, sir, fu' the favour; thanky, an' good-bye, Mistah Ruggles."
The head of the company went in and sat for a long time dreaming over his table.
A week later an angry crowd of coloured investors stood outside the office of the Coloured ​Improvement Company. The office was closed to all business, and diligent search failed to reveal the whereabouts of Mr. Solomon Ruggles. The investors knew themselves to be the victims of a wily swindler, and they were furious. Dire imprecations were hurled at the head of the defaulting promoter. But, as the throng was spending its breath in vain anger, an old woman with smiling face worked her way trough them toward the door.
"Let me th'oo," she said; "I want to fin' Mistah Ruggles."
"Yell, all of us do. Has he cheated you, too, Auntie?"
"Cheate me? What 's de matter wif you, man? I put fi' dollahs in hyeah last' week, an' look at dat!"
The old woman waved some bills in the air and a letter with the. Some one took it from her hand and read: —
Dear Mrs. Smith, — I am glad to say that yore int'rust 'cumulated faster than usu'l, so I kan inklose you heerwith $15. I am sorry I shall not see you again, az I am kalled away on bizness.
Very respectably yores,
S. Ruggles
​The men looked at each other in surprise, and then they began to disperse. Some one said: "I reckon he mus' be all right, aftah all. Aunt Mandy got huh div'den'."
"I reckon he's comin' back all right," said another.
But Mr. Ruggles did not come back.