Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1923-05-20
Old Reliable Gets PesteredWith
the Kinfolks Children
BY HARRIS DICKSON.

woode glanced up from a seat
on the porch when he saw
Old Reliable come wabbling
through his front gate, with a heavy
loaded wheelbarrow. Zack was bent
double. straining every muscle, Once
the negro stumbled, and gasped; then
eased down his barrow as though II
were full of dynamite. His fear and
excessive caution reused the colonel
curiosity.
"Oh. Zackw he called out What's
that?"
| "Nothin' much, subj" Sweat burst
| from Zack's face and he wiped 1t with
a red handkerchief. "Nothin', sub.
was jes fixin' to make myself safe"
"Safe?"
"Yas, such. 1 amt cravin' none to
4 git blowed up"
| Blown up?" The colonel stepped
into his yard and examined a barrow
load of projectiles that lack was
wheeling. many of the ancient relics
being .unexploded.
.BombshelIs." he exclaimed. Bet
l
things are liable to go off,"
Il knows it. OATS why I fotch dis
load here to get 'em away from nigh
my house.
In the light of modern artillery
they seemed very antiquated. these
miscellaneous missiles which near
, sixty years ago had been hurled into
| lob 4,
round bombs from mortarbosts. evil
looking PARROTS and long percussion
shells, their caps intact and sheathed
in lead. A chance blow on the wrong
place might easily set them off.
| "Zack, where on earth did you get
that plunder?"
| Yankees flung II in here. 'Twarn't
nothin' for me to do 'cept pick it up"
Pick it up? For WHAT
Huh. I used to sell dis stuff for
ole iron, TO de junk man"
Then why didn't you sell it all?"
Cause" lack grinned. "cause ]
kinder got hesitated in my tradin' on
account o. what happened to Isom.
Me an Isom was pardners. gatherin'
deses bumshells when dey lay
thicker'n clods in ev'y gulley. You
members Isom Crowley? Dat ole
hunter man? Well. me an him 'vid-
ed. Isom busted 'em up an claimed
de powder for his part. to hunt wild.
whilst 1 sold de scrap iron. Us done
fine dat fust day. ontil Isom made
sech bad mislick by hittin' one O.
desc long fellers. smack on de head,
wild his sledgehammer. OATS how
come Isom found hisself unqualified
to be a hunter no mo-. 1t blowed off
one arm, an de biggest majority of
bofe legs.
0DEFo dat bad luck overlook ole
- Isom me an him had laid by a
~ pile o desc things onder my
house to sell: an amt teched it
from dat day to dis. not me. But no.
body can't prophecy what a meddle-
some boy is fixin' to do. Lissen. Cum
mel, femme tell you what Simmy
DONE
AS lacks conversation mill got to
working fuently. he abandoned the
wheelbarrow and occupied his regu-
lar talking seat on the top step,
while Spottiswoode sat down again
! in his chair.
"Cunnel, ever since Jim an Cassie
come here to visit Seliny, wild five
chillun, dey sho Is been lSeepin' me in
de middle part of a worriment. Fust
tried to larn dem chillun; but pears
like nothin' don't git into DER head
'cept through DER mouf. Huh!
Plenty goes in dat way.
"Yistiddy. Cunnel, I made Simmy
one O. desc nigger-shooters. which
pulls back wild rubbers an throws
rocks. Huh. Simmy cost me dol
| lar an six bits befo night, payin' for
glasses which he broke out o Life
Mason's window. But Lie never
raised no boiler a'tall, '1ongside O. de
cussin' which Mr.. Will Ramsey done
! when Simmy shot one o. dem huntin'
| dogs O. his'n. Howsomever, US got
dot dog shootin' scrape patched up.
| Feared like Simmy never quit
seekin' an searchin' for lead to make
| bullets. Den, cunnel, bout half, hour
ago was -dozin' on my back gallery
| when I KEEP hearin' a'clack! clack
| Tap! tap" right underneath my floor.
| Co'se 1 would riz up from dere eff l
had 'spicioned dat twas Simmy tryin'
| to git lead for his nigger-shooter. by
L