“You niggers ain’t got good sense,” Rouke replied indifferently. “I tried to take the pictures yesterday, and you coons rough-housed and made a pack of dang monkeys out of yourselves.”
“Yes, suh, dat’s so,” Vinegar acquiesced. “But I done de best I could. Dem niggers ain’t edgecated up to koodaks yit.”
“I guess not,” Shirley drawled.
“Me an’ Brudder Sudds is been talkin’ about it,” Vinegar went on, “an’ Sudds specify dat he don’t think he had a fair show. He wants to hab one mo’ try-on.”
“Dat’s right!” Sudds chimed in.
“What do you folks want to do?” Shirley asked curiously.
“Sudds, he specify dat he figgers dat a make-b’lieve weddin’ betwix’ him an’ dat N’Awleens gal would be jes’ de right do,” Vinegar proposed.
“Who’ll marry ’em?” Rouke asked, watching the smoke curl up from the end of his cigar.
“Me!” Vinegar proclaimed in an explosive tone. “Dat is my real bizzness. I marrifies all de niggers.”
“I see,” Shirley grinned. “You want to get into the picture yourself!”