§ 77 When the H. C. of L. Came Down
As I heard the tale it had to do with a small community in Texas where the railroad ran through the main street and on either side of the track stood a short order restaurant owned and operated by a colored man.
One night the official bad man of the vicinity came lurching into one of these rival establishments. The visitor was under the influence of strong drink—a circumstance calculated to make him slightly more dangerous than rattlesnakes.
While the uneasy proprietor made pretense at being glad to see him the bully flopped his long frame into a chair and demanded:
“Nigger, have you got a nice tender sirloin steak here?”
“Yas, suh!”
“All right, then; you cook it fur me and don’t you cook it too long else I’ll cook you. And along with it you better bring me some fried onions and fried potatoes and some celery and a mess of hot biscuits and green peas and roasting ears and pie and coffee and anything else tasty that you’ve got around this dump. Now jump before I start jumpin’ you.”
The black man jumped. In a miraculously short time, considering the magnitude of the order, he staggered in from his cubby-hole of a kitchen at the rear bearing a waiter tray piled high with dishes. He ranged the array of food in a half moon effect before his patron and then fluttered back a few paces.
When the bad man had eaten he leaned back in his chair, drew a spring-back dirk knife out of his pocket, flipped its five-inch blade out with a nudge of a practiced thumb and leisurely picked his teeth with its needle-like point. His caterer watched him as a fascinated bird watches a coiled serpent.
Suddenly he spoke and the negro jumped.
“What sort of a dump does that other nigger over acrost the tracks run?” he asked.
“Oh, you wouldn’t lak dat place a-tall,” stated the colored man. “Dat nigger natchelly thinks a fly is somethin’ you cooks wid. He ain’t sanitatious, lak I aims to be.”
“Yes,” said the bully, “and whut’s more, he’s a robber—he’s a regular pirate.”
“Is dat so, suh?”
“Well, judge for yourself. Last night I went into that nigger’s joint and ordered just about what I’ve had here to-night—maybe a little more, maybe a little less. When I got through I asked him what the damage was and, do you know, that black scoundrel had the gall to ask me for a dollar and a quarter? Of course I oughter killed him. In fact, I got up intendin’ to kill him. But something sort of stayed my hand. All I done to him was just to cut off both his ears with this here frog-sticker and feed ’em to him. By the way, what do I owe you for this mess of vittles?”
“Boss,” said the darky, “I reckon a dime would be ample.”