Lance turned and stared. How much did the words mean to the old woman?
In a moment he knew.

"Yas, my young marseter, dis yer America's de ole black 'oman's country,
thes like it's fine young white man's, like you, sir. I gwine give my
las' cent, like you say. Yas, I gwine do dat. I got two hun'erd dollars,
sir; I b'en a-savin' and a-savin' for Jeems 'n me 'ginst when we git
ole, but I gwine give dat to my country. I want Unc' Sam to buy good
food for dem boys in the muddy water. Bacon 'n hominy, sir--'n corn
bread, what's nourishin'. 'N I want you to git de--de Liberty
what-je-call-'ems. Yassir. 'Caze you ain't got no ma to he'ep you out,
'n de ole black 'oman's gwine to be de bes' ma she know how to her young
marse. I got de money tied up--" she leaned forward and whispered--"in a
stockin' in de bottom draw' ob de chist unner Jeem's good coat. Tomorrow
I gwine fetch it, 'n you go buy yo' what-je-calls-'ems."

Lance went across and knelt on the floor beside her and put his arms
around the stout figure. He had been brought up with a colored mammy and
this affection seemed natural and homelike. "Aunt Basha, you're one of
the saints," he said. "And I love you for it. But I wouldn't take your
blessed two hundred, not for anything on earth. I'd be a hound to take
it. If you want some bonds"--it flashed to him that the money would be
safer so than in the stocking under Jeem's coat--"why, I'll get them for
you. Come into the _Daybreak_ office and ask for me, say--Monday. And
I'll go with you to the bank and get bonds. Here's my card. Show anybody
that at the office." And he gave directions.

Five minutes later the old woman went off down the street talking half
aloud to herself in fragments of sentences about "Liberty