ev'y day was Sunday wid Jube. Jube say twarn't no sense fer him to be strainin' his back, like dem rouster niggers—he didn't need nothin'. Dat 'ooman what cooked at Jedge Freeman's house, she fed him, but Lordee, Cunnel, Jube was so lazy his vittles didn't taste good.
"One day in de winter time Jube come loafin' past de Hot Cat Eatin' House, whar we-all wuz settin' roun' de stove talkin' lodge bizness. Aunt Fanny was floppin' catfish in de skillet, an' de smoke riz up. Dat's how come Jube poked his nose in de do' an' say, 'What dat I smell so good?' Bud Lowe flung a chunk o' coal at him an' hollered, 'Git out o' here, Jube—you knows I don't 'low you to hang roun' my eatin' house.' Dat sho' was de troof, Cunnel. I'd been settin' in dat same cheer nigh on to five years, an' I knowed dat Bud never had no use fer loafin' niggers. Shucks, Cunnel, a chunk o' coal couldn't hurt Jube's feelin's. Bud had de onlies' stove whar Jube could git warm, so Jube kep' on a comin' in. Atter while Aunt Fanny got riled an' say, 'Jube, whyn't you buy some catfish?' Jube he 'ply back, 'I ain't got no change to-day.' Dar Jube sot, an' dar Jube sot, wid his mouf hankerin' fer catfish. I 'spicioned dat he was gwine to keep a settin' till he got some catfish—ef de seat of Jube's breeches helt out"
"His what?" queried McDonald.
