“Yes,” Rouke replied, as he busied himself setting up his machine.
The darky took off his hat, rubbed his head, hesitated a moment, then said in a pleading voice:
“Please, suh, boss, would you wish to take a picture of me doin’ some kind of stunts? I used to wuck in de movies an’ I likes it.”
“Who? You?” Rouke snapped, gazing at the negro with incredulous eyes. “What did you do in the studio?”
“I wucked fer a feller whut took de pictures. He lemme tote his extry films, and lemme hold his hat, an’ sometimes he gimme a board wid a number on it, an’ lemme stan’ in front of de picture-box while he turned de crank an’ tuck my tintype.”
Shirley Rouke saw that this speech had made an impression upon the negroes gathered around. He hesitated a moment, then said:
“What’s your name?”
“Dey calls me Sour Sudds.”
“All right, Sudds. You seem to have had considerable experience as a movie actor. Now if you can get some of these other people to get in it with you, I think I will take a picture of you all.”
“Come on, niggers!” Sudds bellowed in delighted tones. “Eve’ybody is gwine hab his tintype took! Hustle! Dese here white mens ain’t got no time fer foolishness!”