Then the man from the installment furniture house came. He was a vile-mouthed, bearded Teuton, and swore so fiercely that no one dared to protest when he loaded Peter’s furniture on his truck and drove away.
Now there remained in a corner of Porgy’s room, where he had taken them into custody, only a battered leather trunk, a chromo of “The Great Emancipator,” and a bundle of old clothes; mute reminders of their kindly and gentle old owner.
II
PART II
THE languor of a Southern May was in the air. It was a season dear to the heart of a negro. Work on the wharves was slowing down, and the men were putting in only two or three days a week. There were always some of them lying about the court, basking in the sun, laughing, and telling stories while they waited for their women to come from the “white folks’” kitchens, with their full dinner pails.