NIGHTS WITH UNCLE REMUS 
XL 
“CUTTA CORD-LA!” 
To all appearances Daddy Jack had taken no interest in Uncle 
Remus’s story of the horses’ tails, and yet, as soon as the little 
boy and Aunt Tempy were through laughing at a somewhat 
familiar climax, the old African began to twist and fidget in his 
chair, and mumble to himself in a lingo which might have been 
understood on the Guinea coast, but which sounded out of place 
in Uncle Remus’s Middle Georgia cabin. Presently, however, his 
uneasiness took tangible shape. He turned around and exclaimed 
impatiently: — 
“Shuh-shuh! w’en you sta’t fer tell-a dem tale, wey you no tell 
um lak dey stan’? ’E bery bad fer twis’ dem tale ’roun’ un ’roun\ 
Wey you no talk um stret?” 
“Well, Brer Jack,” said Uncle Remus, smiling good-humoredly 
upon the queer little old man, “ef we done gone en got dat ar tale 
all twis’ up, de way fer you ter do is ter whirl in en ontwis’ it, en 
we-all folks ’ll set up yer en he’p you out plum twel Mars John 
comes a-hollerin’ en a-bawlin’ atter dish yer baby; en atter he 
done gone ter bed, den me en Sis Tempy yer we ull set up wid you 
plum twel de chickens crow fer day. Dem’s de kinder folk we all is 
up yer. We ain’t got many swimps en crabs up yer in Putmon 
county, but w’en it come ter settin’ up wid comp’ny en hangin' 
’roun’ atter dark fer ter make de time pass away, we er mighty 
rank. Now den, Brer Jack, I done call de roll wid my eye, en we 
er all yer ’ceppin’ dat ar ’Tildy gal, en’t won’t be long ’fo’ she’ll 
be a-drappin’ in. Run over in yo’ min’, en whar my tale ’uz 
wrong, des whirl in en put ’er ter rights.” 
“Shuh-shuh!” exclaimed the old African, “Oona no git dem 
tale stret. I yed dem wey me lif; ’e soun’ lak dis: One tarn dem 
bittle bin git bery skace. Da rice crop mek nuttin’; da fish swim 
£00 
