"Wha' he do to yo'?"
"Oh, de man in de canes, de man in—"
"Stop cryin' yo' big able goat 'n let a body see what's de mattah wit' yo'," frowned Miss Cragwell; she turned to Bellon. "Go behind de counter," she said, "an' like a good boy hand me de candle grease yo' see dey 'pon me chest o' draws."
"Oh, nutton ain't do me—he ain't do me nutton."
"Hey, yo' hear ris alarmer, ni," drawled Mother Cragwell, her lower lip hanging. "Wha' yo' mekin' all dis noise fo' den?"
A look of revulsion shone on Bellon's face as he returned. "God, she's black!"
"Oh, Mother Cragwell," the woman pleaded, dropping into a seat, "le' me tell yo'—"
Every word she uttered was punctuated with jabs of the inevitable parasol. "The light fool me," she said. "It war so light I bin taught it wuz morning."
"Yo' mean to say a big able woman like yo' ain't got a clock in yo' house?"
With difficulty the buckra kept back an oath of amused disgust.