Bypaths in Dixie: Folk Tales of the South
Nonfiction, Religion & Spirituality, New Age, History, Fiction & Literature
| Author: | Sarah Johnson Cocke | ISBN: | 9781465614209 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria | Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Sarah Johnson Cocke |
| ISBN: | 9781465614209 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria |
| Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
The telephone had just been mended again, and the man suggested as he left that the little boy find another plaything. Phyllis indignantly protested that Willis had done no damage to the instrument, and that the frequent defects were due to the failure of the workman to put it in proper condition. Being thus defended by so strong an ally, Willis lost no time in attacking the forbidden object as soon as the door was closed. “Let de ole telerfome erlone, baby,” said Phyllis in a tone of sympathetic protest. But the boy could not resist such an opportunity. “Dat table tiltin’ right now.” She caught her breath as the table righted itself. “An’ dat telerfom’ll bus’ yo’ haid wide op’n.” “I’m going to talk to my papa.” “You gwinter talk ter er bust’d haid, dat’s who you—” At that moment, table, telephone, boy and all fell to the floor with a bang. “What’d I tell yer?” Willis answered with a succession of screams that admitted of no argument or consolation. Phyllis offered none until she had satisfied herself that a bumped head and a much frightened little boy were the extent of the damage. “Mammy gwine whup dat telerfome,” she continued, “an’ de flo’ too, caze dey hu’t her baby.” And she proceeded to execute the threat. “Don’t whip the telephone—whip the table!” he screamed. “Dat’s right,” striking the table with a towel; “’twas dat ole table done all de mischuf—Mammy gwina rub camfer on dat telerfome’s haid des like she rub’in on yorn, an’ beg his pard’n too,” looking for the raised place. “Come on ov’r ter de wind’r so Mammy kin see her baby’s haid good!”
The telephone had just been mended again, and the man suggested as he left that the little boy find another plaything. Phyllis indignantly protested that Willis had done no damage to the instrument, and that the frequent defects were due to the failure of the workman to put it in proper condition. Being thus defended by so strong an ally, Willis lost no time in attacking the forbidden object as soon as the door was closed. “Let de ole telerfome erlone, baby,” said Phyllis in a tone of sympathetic protest. But the boy could not resist such an opportunity. “Dat table tiltin’ right now.” She caught her breath as the table righted itself. “An’ dat telerfom’ll bus’ yo’ haid wide op’n.” “I’m going to talk to my papa.” “You gwinter talk ter er bust’d haid, dat’s who you—” At that moment, table, telephone, boy and all fell to the floor with a bang. “What’d I tell yer?” Willis answered with a succession of screams that admitted of no argument or consolation. Phyllis offered none until she had satisfied herself that a bumped head and a much frightened little boy were the extent of the damage. “Mammy gwine whup dat telerfome,” she continued, “an’ de flo’ too, caze dey hu’t her baby.” And she proceeded to execute the threat. “Don’t whip the telephone—whip the table!” he screamed. “Dat’s right,” striking the table with a towel; “’twas dat ole table done all de mischuf—Mammy gwina rub camfer on dat telerfome’s haid des like she rub’in on yorn, an’ beg his pard’n too,” looking for the raised place. “Come on ov’r ter de wind’r so Mammy kin see her baby’s haid good!”
