“Who’s dat?”
“Hopey Prophet is done come on bizzness. Open dis door!”
“Whut you come to see me fur?” Dazzle asked promptly, after she had admitted Hopey.
Dazzle was a woman who met all the exactions of Ethiopian beauty. Her skin as black as jet, her teeth like milk, her eyes so dark that they had a bluish tinge, slim and strong and graceful, an actress, a dancer, a singer, she was the dusky belle of Tickfall. Every negro man who had married anybody in the past four years had first proposed to and been rejected by Dazzle.
Many of Dazzle’s enterprises were highly adventurous, and she was always fearful and suspicious. So when Hopey hesitated to begin, Dazzle’s tone became sharp with anxiety:
“Whut you come to see me fur?” she repeated.
“I come to consult wid you about a little scrape our fambly is got into, Dazzle,” Hopey began. “Us is liable to hab plenty trouble onless somebody kin he’p us.”
“Whut’s done busted loose now?” Dazzle asked easily. Her mind was now at rest, for nothing that could happen to Hopey’s family could impinge on any of Dazzle’s previous escapades.
“Mustard is done loss his rabbit-foot!” Hopey exclaimed in tragic tones.
Dazzle laughed.