“Her maid?—for gracious sake! What can you do?”
“Tuckenoffener shoes. En stockin’s.”
“Tuckenoffener?”
“Haul’em off. Yass,’m.”
“Well, if I hever!” murmured Meadows, surveying this strange coadjutor, from the erect tails of wool to the bare black toes.
There was a loud groan in the hall outside. Meadows started.
“Unc’ Abram, I spec, totin’ up de wood,” said Powlyne.
“Is he ill?”
“Ill!” said the child, contemptuously. “He’s dat dair sassy ter-night!”
“Is he coming in here? Oh, don’t go away!” pleaded Meadows. She had a vision of another incursion of black men in bathing costumes.