”Mammy, can’t my papa be mayor if he wants to?” bragged Willis, darting a satisfied look at Mary Van.

“I’ll tell yer mo’ ’bout dat dis time termorrer,” was the unexpected reply.

“Yahn, yahn, yahn,” taunted Mary Van.

“He can, too,” retorted Willis.

Willis’s papa was a candidate for mayor, hence in the family politics colored the conversation from the parlor through the nursery even to the kitchen.

“De reason I says whut I does,” Mammy apologized, “is ’caze dey tells me er dark hoss kin jump in at de las’ minit an bus’ de whole thing all ter pieces.”“Does he kick up and run away?” Willis jerked at her apron to hasten the reply.

“Dey runs erway wid de ’lection sometimes, ef de uth’r run’rs ain’ sho’ nuf race hosses an’ got mighty strong harnes’ on ’em.”

“Mammy, less me an’ Mary Van be race hosses, an’ you be er dark hoss, an’ see which one can beat.”

“I low ef we-all wuster race hoss ’roun’ dis hyah garret, ’tain’ long fo’ yo’ ma’ll be de dark hoss ter do de beatin’.”

“No, Mammy, put m’ harness on,” shaking the bells in impatience.

“I can’t play no race hoss up hyah terday, boy, ’caze Miss Lucy got her mine on ’lection news, an’ she say you got ter be quiet.”

“No, I’m going to be a race horse, put m’ harness on!”

“Auntie might whip you, Willis,” ventured Mary Van, “mightn’t she, Mammy Phyllis?”

“She whup ’im in er minit, ef he fool wid her terday.”

“Well, Mammy—” he fretted.

“Lis’n hyah, baby—Miss Race Hoss settin’ ov’r yond’r in de pastur’ waitin’ jes’ like yo’ ma is terday.”

“What’s she waiting for?”

“Waitin’ ter hyah ef Mist’r Race Hoss beat Brer Bar ter be ruler er de beastes. Oh, I tell yer Ned Dog mos’ run hisse’f plum ter death gittin’ votes fur Mist’r Race Hoss; an’ Mist’r Wile Cat, he de haid man gittin’ votes fur Brer Bar.”

“But, Mammy—”

“Lawd, boy, I wush you cud heah de scand’lous bettin’ gwine on in dat pastur’—ev’ybody puttin’ money on Mist’r Race Hoss, ’caze dey see Brer Bar’s too slow an’ sleepy mind’d ter keep up wid Mist’r Race Hoss. An’ den, too, nobody doan trus’ Mist’r Wile Cat fur nuthin’. Mist’r Wile Cat all time projeckin’ wid some sorter big sumpin’ nuth’r dat nuv’r do tu’n out ter be er thing. So yer see nobody ain’ gwine vote fur Brer Bar, ’caze dey skeer’d er Mist’r Wile Cat’s dealin’s. Dey talks all dis out in de pastur’, an’ Mist’r Tom Cat he set an’ lis’n ter de confab. Sometime he buse Brer Bar, an’ sometime he make out he ’sleep an’ doan heah.

“One day Mist’r Jack Donkey wint up ter de fod’r rack ter git er chaw er fod’r, an’ whin he come thu de cow shed he come ’cross Mist’r Tom Cat stretchin’ his claws. Atter dey passes howdy wid one nuth’r, Mist’r Tom Cat, he say, ‘Jack, I heah some fokes say, dey wush ter de Lawd you wus in Brer Bar’s place.’

“Jack, he tu’n his ye’rs ’roun’, he do, an’ say, ‘Who say dat, Tom?’

“Tom Cat say, ‘Ev’ybody jes’ wushin’ fur er big sho’ nuf man like you ter come in an’ whoop out dat ole stuck up Race Hoss.’

“Whin Jack Donkey heah dat, he sorter switch his tail, an’ stomp fus’ one foot an’ den de uth’rs uv his foots, an’ he keep his ye’rs tu’nin’ ’roun’ an’ ’roun’.”

“What’s the reason he does that, Mammy Phyllis; were the flies bothering him?” asked the little girl.

“He studyin’, honey, dat sort’r confab’ll wurk on men fokes, let lone er donkey. Jack sort’r tu’n matt’rs ov’r in his mine, an’ he say ter hisse’f, ‘I sho’ is er sho’ nuf big man, an’ I sho’ is got er heap er sense, ’caze I kin outdo Mist’r Man up yond’r enny day. Nobody can’t make me do nuthin’ my mine ain’ sot on doin’, an’ enybody kin hitch up dat high steppin’ Race Hoss, an’ make ’im plow er do enny sort’r thing whut dey pleases. Yas,’ he says, ‘I got mo’ sense dan Race Hoss, an’ bless de Lawd, ef I doan b’leef I’m bett’r lookin’, too!’

“Mist’r Tom Cat ain’ say er thing, he jes’ keep er stretchin’ his claws, waitin’ fur Jack Donkey ter git plum full er hisse’f. Bimeby, he git full ernuf ter bile ov’r, an’ he say, ‘Brer Tom, I ain’ much on pol’ticks, you knows dat,—but ef de plantation is jes’ brow beat by dat ripsnortin’ Race Hoss, an’ can’t git shed er him no uth’r way, ’cep’n fur some uth’r bigg’r man ’n him ter run ’ginst ’im, den I’m yer man.’

“Tom, he light out fum dar, an’ make tracks all ov’r de pastur’ tell he come ter Mist’r Billy Goat’s house.”

“Was it Ned Dog’s Billy Goat?” and Willis was contented to lay aside the harness.

“Hit wus Billy’s gran’pa, ole Cap’n Goat. Cap’n Goat wus walkin’ up an’ down de branch washin’ his foots an’ takin’ er swall’r er water ev’y now an’ den, an’ whin Tom Cat come erlong an’ op’n up an’ tell his biznes’, de Cap’n git so ’cited, dat he stomp water all ov’r creation, an’ Tom git right sharply sprinkl’d. He jump up an’ shake hisse’f, he do, an’ sorter start up ter de shade er de chestnut tree. Dey pass er heap er conversation, dey does, but de upshot uv hit wus, dat Cap’n Goat ’cide ter put Jack Donkey up es er dark hoss.

“Mist’r Tom Cat, he run an’ tell Brer Mule, an’ Mist’r Dur’m Cow, an’ Mist’r Brindle Cow, an’ ole man Hog, ter run quick ter de ches’nut tree, dat Cap’n Goat’s got sumpin’ big ter tell ’em! Whin dey gits dar, an’ passes de news back’ards an’ fur’ards ’mongst derse’fs, dey ’cides ter run Jack Donkey in de race.

“Mist’r Dur’am Cow say, ‘Jack’s mo’ stronger’n Race Hoss.’

“Ole man Hog say, ‘Yas, an’ he kin wurk long’r an’ mo’ hard’r’n Race Hoss.’

“Oh, dey praises Jack Donkey up moutily, an’ all uv ’em say dey’ll whup Mist’r Race Hoss so bad dat he’ll be ’sham’d ter trot ’long side uv er mud turtle.

“Dey so bizzy wid der confab, dat dey ain’ notice Mist’r Wile Cat settin’ up on er lim’ er de tree. Atter dey spies him, dey axes ’im ter pass his ’pinion on de meetin’.“He up an’ low, he did, dat he know Brer Bar ain’ in de race, but, sezee, ‘Jack Donkey can’t do much bet’r’n Brer Bar, ef you let fokes know ’im.’

“Dey axes him how dey kin hope hit.

“He tell ’em ter run him by de name er Bline Billy.

“Dey ax ’im how he speck Bline Billy name gwine keep fokes fum knowin’ Jack Donkey whin he ’pear ter make his canvas.

“Wile Cat say ter make ’im kiv’r hisse’f up whinsumev’r he rise ’fo’ de congregation.

“An’ dat’s whut dey done, an’ nobody ’cep’n dem fokes und’r de ches’nut tree know Bline Billy’s sho’ nuf name.

“Ned Dog, he go tell Mist’r Race Hoss ’bout dis new fine run’r dat’s makin’ sich fine speeches ’ginst ’im. Mist’r Race Hoss tell Ned Dog ter git der side tergeth’r so dey kin confab erbout de mat’r. Ned Dog, he passes de wurd ter ’em all, an’ he ’speshully tell Brer Mule ter be dar sho’.

“Brer Mule tell him he can’t make up his min’ which side he’s on, he say he kin ter Bline Billy, an’ he ort’r vote fur him.

“Ned Dog tell him he mustn’t fergit dat him an’ Mist’r Race Hoss kin, too.

“He say he ain’ fergit hit, an’ dat’s howcum he so twist’d up ’bout votin’. He set an’ study, he do, an’ de mo’ he study, de mo’ he can’t make up his mine.”

“Make him vote for Mister Race Hoss, Mammy.”

“Make who, boy?—Brer Mule settin’ up on dat fence stud’in’ jes whar Ned Dog lef’ ’im.”

Willis became discouraged over Mister Race Horse’s prospects and insisted with much feeling that Phyllis had influenced the animals in Jack Donkey’s behalf.

“Go off, boy, how I gwine make dese trashy creeturs vote fur high tone fokes like yo’ pa an’ Mist’r Race Hoss? Dey dunno nuthin’ ’cep’n whut de murchine tell ’em ter vote,” shaking her head in condemnation and mumbling to herself. “Sometimes I studies ter m’se’f ef de wimmin fokes cud do enny bett’r.”

“Mammy Phyllis, please make somebody come to Mister Race Horse’s meetin’,” urged Mary Van.

“Doan you both’r yose’f ’bout dat meetin’, ’caze Ned Dog both’rin’ nuf fur bofe uv yer. He go tell Mist’r Rooster ter telerfome ter Mist’r Turk’y Gobler, an’ Mist’r Peacock, an’ he tell Mist’r Bloodhoun’ fur him ter run an’ tell Mist’r Jersey Cow, an’—”“An’ Mister Turtle,” suggested Willis, trying to help the meeting along.

“Nor, suh, ole man Mud Turtle ain’ got no bisnes’ at dis meetin’, he ’longs wid de Bline Billy crowd. Ef you talkin’ ’bout Mist’r Di’mon’ Back Terrapin, den you’se right, ’caze he wus dar on de amen bench, an’—”

“Where were the sheep, Mammy?”

“Dat’s so, baby, I mos’ fergit all ’bout de ’spute Unk Bell Weth’r an’ ole Daddy Ram Sheep had ’bout de mat’r. Daddy Ram Sheep wanter vote fur Bline Billy, but Unk Bell Weth’r say dey got ter heah mo’ speakin’ ’fo’ dey got nuf sense ter know which one de bes’ side.

“Well, de speakin’ start’ an’ I tell yer hit kep’ up scand’lus, too.

“Mist’r Race Hoss ’vite Bline Billy an’ Brer Bar bofe uv ’em ter speak wid ’im, but Brer Bar feer’d ter, an’ ev’y time Jack Donkey say he gwine mix speeches wid Mist’r Race Hoss, ole Uncle Gee-Haw Steer giv’ er big kick ’ginst hit.

“He say, ‘Twon’ do, twon’ do!’

“Fin’ly Ned Dog ax Cap’n Goat ef Bline Billy skeer’d ter meet Mist’r Race Hoss on de same stump, will he ’gree ter meet ’im on diffunt stumps but tolerbul close tergether, so dey kin see which one kin out do de uth’r.

“Cap’n Goat say Bline Billy ain’ skeer’d er no race hoss dat ev’r capr’d on er track, an’ ter ’nounce de time an’ name de stumps, an’ Blin’ Billy’ll be dar wid fo’ foots an’ er tongue dat’ll make Mist’r Race Hoss eat up all dat big talk he bin scat’rin’ ’roun’.

“Whin ole Unk Gee-Haw Steer heah ’bout de meetin’ he kick er ’ginst hit, he say dat donkey gwine make er jack er hisse’f sho’ es sho’ kin be; dat fokes’ll fin’ out who Bline Billy is, ef he start ter talkin’ wid Mist’r Race Hoss.

“Mist’r Tom Cat say, ‘Nor, Jack Donkey gwinter keep hisse’f kiv’r’d up plum tell de ’lection’s ov’r.’

“Sez Unk Gee-Haw Steer, ‘I wants yer all ter ’member I kick’d ’ginst hit ter de ve’y las’.’

“Oh, I tells yer dar wus mouty times gwine on gittin’ reddy fur dat ’casion; de pastur’ wus plum full er flags.

“Sis’ Tabby Cat, she slip ov’r ter Miss Race Hosses house an’ say, ‘Miss Race Hoss, Mist’r Tom Cat say hit mos’ kill him ter vote ’ginst Mist’r Race Hoss, but Cap’n Goat done bin sich er good frin’ ter our fambly dat Tom bleege ter do like de Cap’n ax ’im, but hit mos’ killin’ Tom, ’caze he say Mist’r Race Hoss is de man fur de place, an’ he hope he gwine git ’lect’d.’

“Miss Race Hoss ain’ sayin’ nuthin’. She know all ’bout Mist’r Tom Cat’s doin’s an’ Sis’ Tabby wusn’t foolin’ nobody but herse’f. Lawd, chillun,” she mused, preparing to cut some quilt pieces, “how menny Sis’ Tabby Cats is bin ter see Miss Lucy heah lately?”

“Well, de speakin’ day come. Bline Billy wus settin’ off on his stump all kiv’r’d up, so nobody kin tell him. Cap’n Goat settin’ right close ter him whisperin’ all de time, an’ Brer Turkey Buzzard he swoopin’ all eroun’ de congergation takin’ messages fur Cap’n Goat, an’ pickin’ up eny scrap uv vit’als he kin fine.“Mist’r Race Hoss settin’ on his stump, too, wid Jedge Eagle perch’d ’long side er him an’ Ned Dog on de uth’r side.

“Mist’r Bull-finch an’ John Mockin’ Bird wus de lead’rs er de ban’ an’ I tell yer dat musick wus sumthin’ ter heah sho’ nuf.

“Cap’n Goat say dey doan want no musick playin’ at der speakin’.

“Brer Bull Frog say: ‘Nor, suhree, you git er jug-er-rum an’ put hit wit Sis’ Ginny Hen’s boys up in de gal’ry, long wid Miss Wile Lucy Goose’s chilluns, an’ you got nuf fuss fur fifty meetin’s.’

“Mist’r Tom Cat slap down on his leg an’ say, ‘Dat’s de very thing; dat ef Mist’r Race Hoss git ter th’owin’ off too much language, jes’ ter git Brer Bull Frog ter start off de Ginny chorus an’ he bet Race Hoss won’t heah his own se’f talk.’”Willis moved closer. “Was all of ’em sittin’ together, Mammy?”

“Nor, dey wus fur nuf erpart fur bofe uv ’em ter keep der own crowd.”

“Where did Brer Mule sit?” Mary Van remembered to ask.

“And where did Uncle Bell Weth’r take the sheep?” put in Willis.

“Brer Mule had bisnes’ dat take ’im clean off’n de plantation, honey, an’ dat bisnes’ keep ’im plum tell ’lection day’s ov’r. Yas, Lawd, an’ er whole passel er yo’ pa’s frien’s went wid him ter hope ’im ten’ ter his bisnes’.”

“Did Uncle Bell Weth’r and the sheep go, too?”

“Nor, son, dey jes’ nachelly ain’ got der mines sot yit, an’ dey ain’ settin’ wid one nur t’other. Dey huddl’d tergeth’r right b’twixt de two, waitin’ fur Unk Bell Weth’r ter ring de bell, den all uv ’em gwine move tergeth’r.

“But youall keep er talkin’ so much, Mist’r Race Hoss an’ Bline Billy gittin’ wo’ out settin’ on dem stumps.”

“Tell ’em to start, Mammy.”

“Dey done start, baby. Bline Billy’s ginny chorus jes’ er pot’rackin’ hard es dey kin, ’caze Brer Bull Frog so full er jug-er-rum, dat he start ’em off too soon. Cose de gooses turn loose soon es de ginnies give de fus ‘potter-rack.’

“Cap’n Goat tuk an’ whisp’r ter Brer Turkey Buzz’rd ter go tell Jim Duck fur de Lawd sake ter stop de fuss, so Jack Donkey kin speak, ’caze Mist’r Race Hoss wus jes’ er speakin’ gran’ an’ gittin’ way erhead; an’ Cap’n Goat settin’ up dar pullin’ his whisk’rs an’ farely chawin’ de een’s off. Fin’ly Brer Turkey Buzzard whisper ter Jim Puddle Duck, but Jim Duck sorter deef an’ he think Brer Buzzard say fur his fambly ter go he’p ’long de fuss. So he go, he do, an’ geth’r ’em up, an’ Miss Screech Owel’s fokes, too, an’ dey starts sich ernuth’r holl’rin’ es nobody ain’ nuv’r heah befo’ nur sense. Cap’n Goat try ter shout out er few wurds, but nobody can’ heah er wurd, so Mist’r Durham Cow raise his beller ter try ter hope him, but dat done do no good. Den Mist’r Tom Cat see ef he kin git in er wurd, but nobody wud know he wus talkin’ les’n dey see his mouf wurkin’.

“Whoopee! Jack Donkey wus so mad, he hop up ter holler, too, but Mist’r Wile Cat hidin’ b’hime ’im, grabs ’im by de kiv’r an’ tell ’im ter set still tell dey holl’rs derse’fs out. He say, ‘Den you kin speak atter Mist’r Race Hoss gits all wo’ out.’ But nor suhree, dat ’vice ain’ suitin’ Jack Donkey, an’ whut’s mo’, he too hard haided ter lis’n enyhow, so he up an’ start ter holl’rin his ‘He-haw, he-haw.’

“Whoopee! dat stop de fuss! Somebody ’gun ter holl’r: ‘Bline Billy ain’ nobody but ole Jack Donkey!’ All uv ’em say, ‘De idee er Jack Donkey puttin’ hisse’f up ter be rul’r er de beastes.’

“Unk Bell Weth’r shake de bell, an’ all de sheep flocks ter Mist’r Race Hoss’s side.

“Oh, I tell yer dar wusn’t but er han’ful er fokes lef’ on Jack’s side.”

“Why did Jack Donkey pull his cov’r off, Mammy?”

“He didn’t hatt’r pull his kiv’r off, son, caze Jack call out his own name—can’t you tell er donkey whin you heahs him bray?”

At that moment a band and shouts of people were heard coming up the street.

“Lawsee! chillun! Less git down fum heah; I b’leef in m’ soul Mist’r Race Hoss done beat dis race sho’ nuf.”