“What?”
“Aim gommo mame.”
“WHAT?”
The small darky looked annoyed.
“Aim GOMMO mame, I hell you,” he said impatiently.
Penrod conceived that insult was intended.
“What's the matter of you?” he demanded advancing. “You get fresh with ME, and I'll——”
“Hyuh, white boy!” A coloured youth of Penrod's own age appeared in the doorway of the cottage. “You let 'at brothuh mine alone. He ain' do nothin' to you.”
“Well, why can't he answer?”
“He can't. He can't talk no better'n what he WAS talkin'. He tongue-tie'.”