"I'll have you put in jail far that, Eradicate Sampson!" he cried.
"You've nearly killed me: You'll suffer for this! My father will sue
you for damages, too! Look at me! Look at me!"

"Dat's jest what I'se doin', honey! Jest what I'se doin'!" gasped
Eradicate, hardly able to speak from laughter. "Yo' suah am a most
contrary lookin' specimen! Yo' suah is! Ha! Ha!"

"Stop it!" commanded Andy. "Don't you dare laugh at me, after
throwing whitewash on me."

"I didn't throw no whitewash on you!" protested the colored man.
"Yo' done poured it over yo'se'f, dat's what yo' done did. An' I
jest cain't help laughin', honey. I jest natchally cain't! Yo' look
so mortally distressed, dat's what yo' does!"

Andy's rage might have been dangerous, but the very excess of it
rendered him incapable of doing anything. He was wild at Eradicate
and would willingly have attacked him, but the whitewash was
beginning to soak through his clothes, and he was so wet and
miserable that soon all the fight oozed out of him.

Then, too, though Eradicate was old, he was strong and he still held
the long handle of the whitewash brush, no unformidable weapon. So
Andy contented himself with verbal abuse. He called Eradicate all
the mean names he could think of, ending up with:

"You won't hear the last of this for a long time, either. I'll have
you, and your old rack of bones, your mule Boomerang, run out of
town, that's what I will."