“Sassin’ Misser Grocerman—runnin’ to de gate wid his head out like a tarr’pin’s, smoking dese yer paper seegars dat smell de whole place up vill’nous, ’stid of waitin’ on de Mist’iss.”
“And you think beatin’ him will do him any good, Chad? How many times did yo’ Marster John beat you?”
Chad looked up, and a smile broke over his face.
“I don’t reckellmember airy lick de Marster ever laid on me.”
“Raised you pretty well, didn’t he, Chad?”
“Yas, sah—dat he did.”
“Anybody beat you since you grew up?”
“No, sah.”
“Pretty good, Chad, ain’t you?”
“I try to be, sah.”