We hadn't so much as spoke to any nigger, except our own nigger Sam, and he couldn't of told ALL the niggers in that town about the stuff to turn niggers white, even if he had set up all night to do it.

But every last nigger we saw looked like he knowed something about us.

Even after we left town our nigger driver hailed two or three niggers in the road that acted that-away.

It seemed like they was all awful polite to us.

And yet they was different in their politeness than they was to them Georgia folks, which is their natcheral-born bosses--acted more familiar, somehow, as if they knowed we must be thinking about the same thing they was thinking about.
About half-way to Bairdstown we stopped at a place to get a drink of water.