“Whut made you an’ Shin explode yo’ fambly life?”
“Money!” Whiffle answered shortly. “I done all de cookin’ an’ de waitin’ on at our eatin’-house. Shin, he done light haulin’ wid de hoss an’ wagin, cut all de wood, an’ hauled it outen de swamp, an’ cleant up de eatin’-house befo’ breakfust in de mawnin’.”
“You-all ’vided up yo’ wuck pretty even,” Skeeter remarked.
“Yes, suh. But Shin, he argufy dat de money oughter be ’vided up even, too; me, I argufy dat I oughter keep all de money an’ gib Shin jes’ as much as I figgered he oughter hab.”
“Cain’t you-all compermise yo’ ’spute no way?” Skeeter inquired.
“De only way fer Shin to compermise wid me is to comp’ on my own terms,” Whiffle wailed. “Ain’t dat so?”
“Yes’m,” Skeeter agreed readily. “Sometimes a nigger man kin compermise wid a woman an’ git her to take his own terms; but fust of all, he’s got to bounce ’bout seven rocks offen her head.”
This remark started Whiffle again, and the sobs began to pop from her throat like the exhaust of a gasoline engine.
“Aw, shuckins!” Skeeter grumbled. “Now I done gone an’ punched a hole in de water-barrel agin. Shut up, Whiffle! You’s too durn moistuous to suit me—ef I ’a’ knowed you wus cornin’ here to wet me wid all yo’ fambly troubles, I’d borrered a rubber divin’-suit!” In his exasperation, Skeeter hurled his cigarette-stub to the ground, and sat glaring around him, wondering what to do.
Whiffle’s baby picked up the cigarette-stub, put the lighted end into his mouth, and emitted a yelp which raised Skeeter out of his chair, and which trailed off into a series of shuddering wails like the call of a screech-owl.