“I make moving pictures,” Rouke answered.
“Movin’—which?” Vinegar asked.
“Moving pictures,” Rouke repeated in a sharp tone. “Didn’t you ever see any movies?”
“Yes, suh, mebbe so, suh, when I wus a little shaver, ‘way back befo’ de war. But I ain’t seem to rickoleck nothin’ ’bout it.”
“Aw, gosh!” Rouke snapped. “Are you kidding me?”
“Naw, suh, dunno, suh, ’spose not, suh.”
The Gitagraft Company suffered an inestimable loss by not having a camera artist present at this interview to preserve the facial expressions of these two men as they sat glaring at each other. Finally a gleam of intelligence penetrated the armor-plated skull of Vinegar, and he said:
“Boss, it ’pears like you an’ me don’t sop gravy outen de same dish. When you talks, nothin’ don’t specify; an’ when I talks my argumint don’t show wharin. Us is bofe jes’ wuckin’ our jaws widout chawin’ no cud. Whut I axes you is dis: Does you sells pictures or does you takes pictures?”
“I takes pictures,” Shirley grinned.
“Dar now!” Vinegar grinned back. “Now us is bofe lickin’ offen de same spoon. You keep yo’ mouf sot till I axes you anodder ’terrogation: Is dese here movin’ pictures jes’ de same as livin’ pictures?”