Left to himself, after he had done his marketing in the neighborhood, it was not long until Felo’s domestic maneuvering was in full swing. Any casual passer-by would have supposed the house was in process of evacuation. Festoons of bed-clothes and barricades of pillows protruded negligently from upstairs windows; scarves and cushions and draperies of many colors flaunted in reckless abandon from down-stairs windows; rugs hung over the side fence, and blankets flapped on the back-yard clothes-line. Everything was brought out to bask in the welcome sunshine and to gather freshness from the pleasant flowing breeze. Filled with abundant energy and the unflagging desire to please, Felo was determined to overlook no single detail about the house. Work don’t never hurt nobody if they goes at it with the right sperret, he told himself.... He sho was goin’ to try his best to keep people from thinkin’ his boss was runnin’ a li’l ole picayune boa’din’-house.... This house was a rezzident; and he sho was goin’ keep it lookin’ so.... And Mr. Amos never need feel ’shamed to have any comp’ny try to ’zamine his toys and things, and all them “heavy-heavy-hangs-ove’-yo’-head” he had on the wall; after Felo got done playin’ with ’um....
Left to himself, after he had done his marketing in the neighborhood, it was not long until Felo’s domestic maneuvering was in full swing. Any casual passer-by would have supposed the house was in process of evacuation. Festoons of bed-clothes and barricades of pillows protruded negligently from upstairs windows; scarves and cushions and draperies of many colors flaunted in reckless abandon from down-stairs windows; rugs hung over the side fence, and blankets flapped on the back-yard clothes-line. Everything was brought out to bask in the welcome sunshine and to gather freshness from the pleasant flowing breeze. Filled with abundant energy and the unflagging desire to please, Felo was determined to overlook no single detail about the house. Work don’t never hurt nobody if they goes at it with the right sperret, he told himself.... He sho was goin’ to try his best to keep people from thinkin’ his boss was runnin’ a li’l ole picayune boa’din’-house.... This house was a rezzident; and he sho was goin’ keep it lookin’ so.... And Mr. Amos never need feel ’shamed to have any comp’ny try to ’zamine his toys and things, and all them “heavy-heavy-hangs-ove’-yo’-head” he had on the wall; after Felo got done playin’ with ’um....
When he came home in the evening, Mr. Amos was struck by the orderly appearance of everything. The rugs were fresh-looking and arranged with care; the floors and the furniture were rubbed and polished; bright flowers were on the piano andtables; and the whole house looked cheerful and inviting.
As he walked back to the diningroom he heard the pleasant sound of Felo’s voice, singing at his work in the kitchen.
“Death he is a cruel monster in dis lan’;You kin call but he won’t answer, ain’t it gran’?”
“Death he is a cruel monster in dis lan’;You kin call but he won’t answer, ain’t it gran’?”
“Death he is a cruel monster in dis lan’;You kin call but he won’t answer, ain’t it gran’?”
“Death he is a cruel monster in dis lan’;
You kin call but he won’t answer, ain’t it gran’?”
The words didn’t carry a very cheerful greeting; but the melody was a lovely one; thought Mr. Amos, as he stood listening, waiting until Felo would finish the verse.
“I kin leave at break of day,You will find but empty clay,—Lawd, I wonder w’at they’ll sayW’en I’m gone...?”
“I kin leave at break of day,You will find but empty clay,—Lawd, I wonder w’at they’ll sayW’en I’m gone...?”
“I kin leave at break of day,You will find but empty clay,—Lawd, I wonder w’at they’ll sayW’en I’m gone...?”
“I kin leave at break of day,
You will find but empty clay,—
Lawd, I wonder w’at they’ll say
W’en I’m gone...?”
“What a strange allurement death and wakes and funerals seem to hold out to him; when at heart he is really of a happy disposition,” Mr. Amos commented, as Felo ended his song and changed to a soft murmuring hum.
Mr. Amos stood looking about the room, waiting for Felo to sing again. Suddenly he became conscious of the odor of pineapple. Wondering where it came from, he soon discovered a large pineappletowering out of the punch bowl on the corner cupboard, and another one standing on a tray on the side table.
“Well, what do you call this?” He asked Felo, not knowing how to regard the unusual decoration.
Felo came in from the kitchen, smiling, wanting to know if everything wasn’t “sattafactual.”
Everything was fine. He was thoroughly pleased; Mr. Amos told him. “But will you kindly tell me why you bought these pineapples and put them in here after this fashion?”
Felo looked at the pineapples thoughtfully, his face assuming a puzzled expression. What was the matter with them? They were nice and fresh.... He never let nobody sell him no cheap rotten fruits.... These pineapples were fine ripe pineapples.... And nobody couldn’t buy no better pineapples for two-bits a piece....
“But you know I never eat pineapples,” Mr. Amos informed him placidly.
“Dah bless Gawd!” Felo exclaimed, abashed; rolling his eyes impressively from one pineapple to the other. “You know, I clean forgot you ain’ never eat pineapple,” he tried to explain. “Gawd knows.” He apologized with deep feeling. “De thing sho did slip my membunce, jus’ like I tell you.”
“And that’s the reason why you bought two pineapplesinstead of one?” Mr. Amos asked, teasingly.
“You ain’ try’n to raise no complaint ’bout fo’-bits, is you?” Felo went on. “But you know, de things look so nice an’ temptin’ w’en I seen ’um on de Dago stan’ dis mawnin’; I thought on w’at I hyeah’d you say,—how dis place smell so mouldy.... So I say: I’m goin’ buy dese pair o’ pineapples an’ put ’um in de room hyuh; an’ I know dey goin’ sho out-stink a billy-goat.... An’ I bet you ain’ smell no miljew scent up in hyuh now. Is you?”
Mr. Amos complimented him on his novel method of disinfecting, but said he preferred to smell the tempting scent that came floating in from the pots.
Felo rolled his eyes appreciatively, saying:
“Well, hurry up an’ set to de table, an’ lemme bring you yo’ li’l foods befo’ yo’ appatite fo’sake you. Evvything ready. So come on an’ eat. An’ maybe I kin go ’way from hyuh soon, w’en I git thoo waitin’ on you.”
Further urging was unnecessary. Mr. Amos knew by the regaling odors coming from the kitchen, that the evening meal would consist of much more than the meager “coffee and bread” which Felo promised in the morning. Having revoked histhreat, in spite of the many duties accomplished that day, Felo had exerted himself in preparing a truly noble dinner.
Not satisfied with the simple luxury of eggplant stuffed with shrimp and tomato, seasoned with onion, thyme, parsley and red pepper, macerated with milk and butter, Felo had added the epicurean garnish of rolled toast and grated sapsago cheese. The yam potatoes, crowned with an aureole of golden-brown marshmallows, looked like an arrangement of autumn leaves mottled with sunshine; and Mr. Amos found himself wondering if it were not a bowl of delectable vegetables masquerading as a delicious dessert. The pork chops were smothered in a rich tomato gravy flavored with cloves and lemon peel; a tempting ragout, which Felo assured Mr. Amos, as he placed before him a plate of hot biscuits just out of the oven, “sho will make you rear back an’ smack yo’ lips manful, after you done sopped some o’ dese light biscuits in dis good ole-time Creyall gravy.”
Knowing that Felo at all times looked for more active proof than simple words of praise in appreciation of his culinary efforts, Mr. Amos endeavored to “perish” and “destroy” as much as was humanly possible. Because Felo was most pleased when he saw people “eat good”; and “et like deybin use to good eatin’.” Feeling that “a dinner table full o’ empty plates an’ dishes was cert’ny mo’ convincin’ den a whole lot o’ col’ overs settin’ up in de ’frigerator.”
When Mr. Amos finished his coffee, he went upstairs to lie down, leaving Felo to “scuffle wid his pots an’ make quick tracks for Gritny.” It was not long before the kitchen boomed with the happy chorus of “De ole sheep done knowed de road”; every now and then a broken cadence floating off through the house like the sound of jubilation:
“My brother, ain’t you got yo’ counts all sealed?De young lambs mus’ find de way.You better git ’um ready ’fore you leave dis field;De young lambs mus’ find de way.”
“My brother, ain’t you got yo’ counts all sealed?De young lambs mus’ find de way.You better git ’um ready ’fore you leave dis field;De young lambs mus’ find de way.”
“My brother, ain’t you got yo’ counts all sealed?De young lambs mus’ find de way.You better git ’um ready ’fore you leave dis field;De young lambs mus’ find de way.”
“My brother, ain’t you got yo’ counts all sealed?
De young lambs mus’ find de way.
You better git ’um ready ’fore you leave dis field;
De young lambs mus’ find de way.”
It was a pleasant sound, and Mr. Amos delayed reading his book as long as the singing continued. As soon as there was silence in the kitchen, he knew that Felo was dressing, and that it would not be long until he was on his way across the river to Gussie’s wake.