“You needn’t mind takin’ it,” the man assured him with a laugh. “It’s just a summons as witness to the Coroner’s inquest. You knew that nigger, Crown, didn’t you?”
He evidently took Porgy’s silence for assent, for he went on.
“Well, all you got to do is to view the body in the presence of the Coroner, tell him who it is, and he’ll take down all you say.”
Porgy essayed speech, failed, tried again, and finally whispered:
“I gots tuh go an’ look on Crown’ face wid all dem w’ite folks lookin’ at me. Dat it?”
His voice was so piteous that the constable reassured him:
“Oh, cheer up; it’s not so bad. I reckon you’ve seen a dead nigger before this. It will all be over in a few minutes.”
“Dey ain’t goin’ be no nigger in dat room ’cept me?” Porgy asked.
“Just you and Crown, if you still call him one.”
After a moment Porgy asked: