Taking the Census: A Farce

by Elizabeth F. Guptill

Mrs. J. He am dat.

Mr. C. How long?

Mrs. J. ’Bout fibe foot eight, sah.

Mr. C. I mean, how long has he been dead?

Mrs. J. Las’ wintah, sah, jes’ arter Chris’mus.

(Enter Alexander, alone. He has been running.)

Alex. De p’licemans say dat it all right, Mammy. De gubmint sent him, an’ yo’ mus’ answer what he ax yo’ to.

Mrs. J. He’s drefful ’quis’tive, but if de Pres’dint send him, we-all mus’ put up wiv him, I spec’.

Mr. C. What is your name?

Mrs. J. Missus Johnsing, ob co’se.