“‘We got one cootuh soup mek out’uh tarrypin’ wuh bin een one pen duh fatten ’pun gritch en’ t’ing,’ en’ one trout fish, en’ summuh duck’.”
“‘You hab enny mint?’”
“‘Yaas, suh, we hab ’nuf.’”
“‘Berry well, mek we a few julip’,” ’e say. “‘You got enny mo’ ’pawtun’ bidness dat ’quire my ’tenshun?’”
“‘Yaas, suh; snake hole en’ crawfish en’ t’ing’ spile one uh we bank, en’ de trunk blow out, en’ uh hab uh berry bad break, en’ Cumbee ribbuh comin’ een de fiel’. You wantuh shum, suh?’”
“‘No, I t’engk you’,” ’e say. “‘Leh de ribbuh tek ’e co’se. Leh we eat’.”
“W’en ’e gitt’ru ’e bittle, ’e hab ’e fo’ hawss’ hitch up, en’ Mistuh Jokok pit two-t’ree bag uh cootuh en’ ricebu’d en’ summuh duck een him cyaaridge, en’ ’e gone spang Walterburruh, same lukkuh bu’d fly! Da’ duh my maussuh!”
By the time Joe concluded his story the noon hour was over, and the awed negroes rose silently to resume their work. One old mauma, turning to Joe as she knocked the ashes out of her clay pipe and carefully stuck it in the knotty wool behind her ear, said, “Joe, dat duh Gawd you binnuh talk ’bout, enty?”
“No, enty I tell wunnuh duh Mass Clinch Heywu’d! Him duh my maussuh, me duh him nigguh. Me ain’ haffuh wu’k, him ain’ haffuh wu’k. W’en wunnuh look ’puntop’uh she, wunnuh look ’puntop’uh me. Me en’ him alltwo stan’ same fashi’n.”
“I t’aw’t,” said the old woman, scornfully, “I t’aw’t ’e mus’ be de blessed Gawd you bin gib shishuh high praise, but I always yeddy suh Him duh de ainjul’ maussuh, en’ I yeddy suh de ainjul’ w’ite en’ shiny lukkuh staar een de sky, but you, nigguh! YOU black ez uh buzzut!”