But this did not meet with Uncle Jimpson's ideas of hospitality.
"Dey nebber knowed you wuz comin'," he argued. "I jes know dey didn't.
But dat won't hinder 'em fum bein' powerful glad to see you. Better
git in, Boss, an' lemme dribe you up dere."
"No, there is evidently more room for me in town!"
"Room! Why, Mister, we could take keer of all de Presidents of de
Nunited States at one time! 'Sides, hit don't look right to leave you
a stompin' round here in de cold fer three or four hours by yourself.
You'd git powerful lonesome."
"I'm used to being lonesome. Haven't been anything else for a year."
"But dis heah is different," urged the old darkey, scratching his
head; "dis heah is Christmas night. Tain't natchul fer folks not to
git together an' laugh an' be happy an' fergit dere quarrels an' dere
troubles an' jollify deyselves. You know you ain't gwine be happy
stompin' round here in de dark by your loneself; you know dat ain't no
way to spend Christmas, Boss!"
The stranger continued to stare into the darkness for a moment, then
he laughed, that same sudden, infectious, boyish laugh that had
greeted Uncle Jimpson's suggestion that he was an agent.
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