“I ain’t been expectin’ no fabors off none ob you folks,” she replied. “How come yuh tuh care ef I lib er die, attuh dat row I mek?”
Maria lowered herself to a seat beside her.
“I lubs dat nigger, Porgy, lak he been my chile,” she told her. “An’ wut mo’, I t’ink I know what done happen tuh yuh.”
“Wut yuh know?”
“I been in my do’ dat night; an’ I seen dat skunk, Sportin’ Life, sell yuh dat stuff. Ef I had er known den wut it wuz, I’d a been hyuh long side ob yuh now fuh murder.”
After a moment, she asked: “Wut mek yuh don’t tell de jailluh who done um, an’ come on home?”
Bess remained silent for a moment; then she raised her head and looked into the eyes of the older woman.
“I’s a ’oman grown. Ef I tek dope, dat muh own business. Ef I ebber gits muh han’ on dat nigger, I goin’ fix um so he own mammy ain’t know um! But I ain’t goin’ gib um ’way tuh de w’ite folks.”
The hard lines about her mouth softened, and, in scarcely more than a whisper, she added:
“I gots tuh be decent ’bout somet’ing, ’less I couldn’t go back an’ look in Porgy face.”