Gwinne rose heavily and shambled to the cell. “If I let you out to eat breakfast with me like a white man—no pranks?”
“Nary prank,” said Johnny.
“She goes,” said Gwinne.
He unlocked the door. Johnny slipped on his high-heeled boots and followed his jailer to the kitchen.
“Water and washpan over there,” said Gwinne, and poked fresh wood in the fire. “Ham and eggs this A. M.” He rumbled a subterranean ditty:
Ham-fat, ham-fat, smoking in the pan—
There’s a mighty sight of muscle on a ham-fat man.
Johnny sent an amused glance up and down his warden’s inches.
“You must have been raised on it, then.”
“Hog and hominy. There’s a comb and brush.”