“Yes, suh, dat’s de properest way to do,” Popsy agreed. “Dat’s why I fotch dis money to you. Kin you keep it fer me?”
“Certainly. That’s what this bank is for.”
“Marse Jimmy Gaitskill over in Burningham—his bank paid me int’rust prannum on dat money,” Popsy said.
“I’ll pay you interest per annum, too,” Gaitskill smiled, well knowing that his brother had supported Popsy Spout for half a century. “How much money will you need to live on each year?”
“I kin git along on ’bout ten dollars a month, Marse Tommy—wid de clothes an’ vittles dat de white folks gimme. I kin save a little out of dat to ’posit back in de bank fer rainy days.”
“That’s one hundred and twenty dollars a year with clothes and food,” Gaitskill laughed. “Some of the bank’s patrons would like to get that much interest per annum.”
“Yes, suh. Marse Jimmy Gaitskill specified dat my nigger money drawed powerful int’rust outen his bank.”
“You can come here and draw ten dollars every month,” Gaitskill said, and he picked up a card and wrote a few words upon it.
“Dat’ll fix me fine, Marse Tommy. I kin live scrumpshus on dat.”
“Where are you going to live?”