Taking the stand, she put her head on one side and complacently smiled until the corners of her mouth—evidently designed for the wholesale trade—approached dangerously near her ears. Twisting his amber imperial, his Honor began:
Q. “What’s your full name?”
A. “Mis’ Wineglass, suh.”
Q. “Where’s your residence?”
A. “’E yent come teday, suh.”
Q. “I mean where do you live?”
A. “Yaas, suh. I lib on Mass Kit FitzSimmun’ plantesshun, w’ich’n ’e jis’ done buy’um de Chuesday een week befo’las’ mek six munt’ done gone, en’ I glad ’e buy’um, too, bekasew’y jis’ ez soon ez ’e buy’um ’e run dat las’ husbun’ w’ich I marry een Augus’ off de place, w’ich’n me en’ dat nigguh nebbuh could ’gree, ’cause, een de fus’ place, ’e too lub fuh lick ’e lady; en’, een de two place, ’e too oncommun lazy en’ no’count, en’, een de t’ree place, ’e fus’ wife en’ me nebbuh could git ’long, en’, een de fo’ place, him is a class-leaduh een de Baptis’ chu’ch, en’ eb’rybody know berry well dat wehreas class-leaduh mek a berry po’ kind’uh husbun’ fuh ’e own wife, en’—”
His Honor—“That will do. What is your charge against the defendant?”
A. “Bredduh Cudjo, suh?”
Q. “Yes. What’s your charge?”