When Andy had recovered from his surprise at the violence of Norton\'s parting advice his eye suddenly rested on the tray of untouched mint juleps.

A broad smile broke over his black countenance:

"Fight it out! Fight it out!" he exclaimed with a quick movement toward the table. "Yassah, I\'m gwine do it, too, I is!"

He paused before the array of filled glasses of the iced beverage, saluted silently, and raised one high over his head to all imaginary friends who might be present. His eye rested on the portrait of General Lee. He bowed and saluted again. Further on hung Stonewall Jackson. He lifted his glass to him, and last to Norton\'s grandfather in his blue and yellow colonial regimentals. He pressed the glass to his thirsty lips and waved the julep a jovial farewell with the palm of his left hand as he poured it gently but firmly down to the last drop.

He smacked his lips, drew a long breath and sighed:

"Put ernuff er dat stuff inside er me, I kin fight er wil\'cat! Yassah, an\' I gwine do it. I gwine ter be rough wid her, too! Rough wid her, I is!"

He seized another glass and drained half of it, drew[Pg 356] himself up with determination, walked to the door leading to the hall toward the kitchen and called:

"Miss Minerva!"

Receiving no answer, he returned quickly to the tray and took another drink:

"Rough wid her—dat\'s de way—rough wid her!"

He pulled his vest down with a vicious jerk, bravely took one step, paused, reached back, picked up his glass again, drained it, and walked to the door.

"Miss Minerva!" he called loudly and fiercely.

From the kitchen came the answer in tender tones:

"Yas—honey!"

Andy retreated hastily to the table and took another drink before the huge but smiling figure appeared in the doorway.

"Did my true love call?" she asked softly.

Andy groaned, grasped a glass and quickly poured another drink of Dutch courage down. "Yassam, Miss Minerva, I thought I hear yer out dar——"

Minerva giggled as lightly as she could considering her two hundred and fifty pounds:

"Yas, honey, hit\'s little me!"

Andy had begun to feel the bracing effects of the two full glasses of mint juleps. He put his hands in his pockets, walked with springing strides to the other end of the room, returned and squared himself impressively before Minerva. Before he could speak his courage began to fail and he stuttered:

"M-M-M-Miss Minerva!"

The good-humored, shining black face was raised in sharp surprise:

"What de matter wid you, man, er hoppin\' roun\' over de flo\' lak er flea in er hot skillet?"[Pg 357]

Andy saw that the time had come when he must speak unless he meant to again ignominiously surrender. He began boldly:

"Miss Minerva! I got somethin\' scandalous ter say ter you!"

She glared at him, the whites of her eyes shining ominously, crossed the room quickly and confronted Andy:

"Don\'t yer dar\' say nuttin\' scandalizin\' ter me, sah!"

His eyes fell and he moved as if to retreat. She nudged him gently:

"G\'long, man, what is it?"

He took courage:

"I got ter \'fess ter you, m\'am, dat I\'se tangled up wid annuder \'oman!"

The black face suddenly flashed with wrath, and her figure was electric with battle. The very pores of her dusky skin seemed to radiate war.

"Who bin tryin\' ter steal you?" she cried. "Des sho\' her ter me, an\' we see who\'s who!"

Andy waved his hands in a conciliatory self-accusing gesture:

"Yassam—yassam! But I make er fool outen myse\'f about her—hit\'s Miss Cleo!"

"Cleo!" Minerva gasped, staggering back until her form collided with the table and rattled the glasses on the tray. At the sound of the tinkling glass, she turned, grasped a mint julep, and drank the whole of it at a single effort.

Andy, who had been working on a figure in the rug with the toe of his shoe during his confession, looked up, saw that she had captured his inspiration, and sprang back in alarm.[Pg 358]

Minerva paused but a moment for breath and rushed for him:

"Dat yaller Jezebel!—tryin\' ter fling er spell over you—but I gwine ter save ye, honey!"

Andy retreated behind the lounge, his ample protector hot on his heels:

"Yassam!" he cried, "but I don\'t want ter be saved!"

Before he had finished the plea, she had pinned him in a corner and cut off retreat.

"Of course yer don\'t!" she answered generously. "No po\' sinner ever does. But don\'t yer fret, honey, I\'se gwine ter save ye in spite er yosef! Yer needn\'t ter kick, yer needn\'t ter scramble, now\'s de time ye needs me, an I\'se gwine ter stan\' by ye. Nuttin\' kin shake me loose now!"

She took a step toward him and he vainly tried to dodge. It was useless. She hurled her ample form straight on him and lifted her arms for a generous embrace:

"Lordy, man, dat make me lub yer er hundred times mo!"

Andy made up his mind in a sudden burst of courage to fight for his life. If she once got those arms about him he was gone. He grasped them roughly and stayed the onset:

"Yassam!" he answered warningly. "But I got ter \'fess up ter you now de whole truf. I bin er deceivin\' you \'bout myself. I\'se er bad nigger, Miss Minerva, an\' I hain\'t worthy ter be you\' husban\'!"

"G\'long, chile, I done know dat all de time!" she laughed.

Andy walled his eyes at her uneasily, and she continued:[Pg 359]

"But I likes ter hear ye talk humble dat a way—hit\'s a good sign."

He shook his head impatiently:

"But ye don\'t know what I means!"

"Why, of cose, I does!" she replied genially. "I always knowed dat I wuz high above ye. I\'se black, but I\'se pure ez de drivellin\' snow. I always knowed, honey, dat ye wern\'t my equal. But ye can\'t help dat. I\'se er born \'ristocrat. My mudder was er African princess. My grandmudder wuz er queen—an\' I\'se er cook!"

Andy stamped his foot with angry impatience;

"Yassam—but ye git dat all wrong!"

"Cose, you\' Minerva understan\'s when ye comes along side er yo\' true love dat ye feels humble——"

"Nobum! Nobum!" he broke in emphatically—"ye got dat all wrong—all wrong!" He paused, drew a chair to the table and motioned her to a seat opposite.

"Des lemme tell ye now," he continued with determined kindness. "Ye see I got ter \'fess de whole truf ter you. Tain\'t right ter fool ye."

Minerva seated herself, complacently murmuring:

"Yassah, dat\'s so, Brer Andy."

He leaned over the table and looked at her a moment solemnly:

"I gotter \'fess ter you now, Miss Minerva, dat I\'se always bin a bad nigger—what dey calls er pizen bad nigger—I\'se er wife beater!"

Minerva\'s eyes walled in amazement:

"No?"

"Yassam," he went on seriously. "When I wuz married afore I got de habit er beatin\' my wife!"

"Beat her?"

Andy shook his head dolefully:[Pg 360]

"Yassam. Hit\'s des lak I tell ye. I hates ter \'fess hit ter you, m\'am, but I formed de habit, same ez drinkin\' licker—I beat her! I des couldn\'t keep my hands offen her. I beat her scandalous! I pay no tenshun to her hollerin!—huh!—de ............