Then Maria poured into his ears words that had the heat and dead weight of molten lead.
“Now I goin’ lock yuh up in dat closet till de ribber boat is back at de wharf,” she concluded. “Den I goin’ let yuh loose. But I all de time goin’ be where I kin git my hand on yuh again. Ef yuh ebber tells Porgy, or any libbin’ soul, dat yuh ain’t deliber dat message tuh Lody, I goin’ tuh hab nigger blood on my soul w’en I stan’ at de jedgement. Now yuh gots dat straight in yuh head?”
Mingo nodded assent. He was beyond the power to speak.
The big negress jerked him suddenly to his feet, propelled him across the room and into the stygian recesses of the closet. Then she slammed the door, turned the immense iron key in the lock, and dropped it in her pocket.
“Well, dat’s dat!” she remarked, as she wiped a moist, mystified face upon a corner of her apron. “Mus’ hab been Jedus done um atter all.” Then, as though to dismiss the matter, she added: “No, I be damn ef he did. He ain’t gots it in um.”
IV
