"What's dat? Yo' all gwine t'hab Boomerang run out ob town?"
demanded Eradicate, a sudden change coming over him. His mule was
his most beloved possession. "Lemme tell yo' one thing, Massa Andy.
I'se an old colored man, an' I ain't much 'count mebby. But ef yo'
dare lay one finger on mah mule Boomerang, only jest one finger,
mind you', why I'll--I'll jest natchally drown yo'--all in
whitewash, dat's what I'll do!"

Eradicate drew himself up proudly, and boldly faced Andy. The bully
shrank back. He knew better than to arouse the colored man further.

"You'll suffer for this," predicted the bully. "For not going to
forget it. Tom Swift put you up to this, and I'll take it out of him
the next time I see him. He's to blame."

"Now looky heah, honey!" said Eradicate quick. "Doan't yo' all git
no sich notion laik dat in yo' head. Massa Tom didn't tell me to do
noth'in an I ain't. He ain't eben 'round yeh. An' annudder thing.
Yo'se t' blame to' this yo' own se'f. Ef yo' hadn't gone fo' is kick
de bucket it nebber would 'a happened. It's yo' own fault, honey,
an' doan't yo' forgit dat! No, yo' better go home an' git some dry
clothes on."

It was good advice, for Andy was soaking wet. He glared angrily at
Eradicate, and then swung off down the road, the whitewash dripping
from has garments at every step.

"Land a massy! But he suah did use up all mah lime." complained
Eradicate, as he picked up the overturned pail. "I's got t' make