Taking the Census: A Farce

by Elizabeth F. Guptill

Mrs. J. We-all hasn’t no moah senses dan we needs, ouah selves, sah, an’ we don’ p’etend dat we has.

Mr. C. I mean I am taking the vital statistics, Madam.

Mrs. J. Vital stickses! Yo’ caint steal no wood here, an’ yo’ caint puffo’m no suhgicla-opahrations, needah. My vitals is inside o’ me, an’ dare dey am a-gwine to merain. Does yo’ heah? We-all don’ need no suhgeons, ’tall. No, yo’ needn’t stayah at dat boy. Yo’ caint speriment wiv his insides.

Mr. C. But I am not a surgeon, Madam. I am the census man.

Mrs. J. Yo’ suttinly am a senseless man, but don’ try any capers heah, fo’ mah eyes is on yo’, an’ de carbin’ knife am mighty handy. Alexandah, yo’ drap dat yahn, and go find a p’licemans. Tell him we-all has got a luniac heah. Hump yo’se’f, now, whilst I watch him. (Exit Alex.)

Mr. C. (Calling.) Come back here, boy. It’s all right.

Mrs. J. (Calling.) Go ’long dare, yo’ heah me? (To Mr. C.) Now yo’ sit down an’ keep still, an’ dar shan’t nuffin huht yo’. But don’ yo’ come a ’step nighah.

Mr. C. I assure you, Madam, you are mistaken. I only want to ask a few questions, and write down your answers.

Mrs. J. Dat’s all right. Might as well ’muse yo’se’f dat way as any odah. What yo’ tink yo’ wan’ to know?