“These are not the old days, Mammy, and you know ‘corporations have no souls.’”
“No so’les? Huh, I’se seen many a corpo’ration dat hatter have good thick leather soles fer ter tote ’em round. Well, well, times is sho’ ’nough changed an’ dese hyer Norf ways don’t set well on my bile; dey rises it, fer sure. So dey ain’t gwine trus’ you, Baby? Where dey live at who has de sesso ’bout it all?”
“The main office is in the city, Mammy, but they have, of course, a local agent here.”
“Wha’ yo’ mean by a locum agen’, honey?”
“A clerk who has an office at 60 State street, and who attends to any business the firm may have in Riveredge.”
“Is yo’ writ yo’ letter ter him? Who is he?”
“No, I have written to the New York office, because Mr. Carruth always transacted his business there. I thought it wiser to, for this Mr. Sniffins is a very young man, and would probably not be prepared to answer my question.”
“Wha’ yo’ call him? Yo’ don’ mean dat little swimbly, red-headed, white-eyed sumpin’ nu’er what sets down in dat basemen’ office wid his foots cocked up on de rail-fence in front ob him, an’ a segyar mos’ as big as his laig stuck in he’s mouf all de time? I sees him eve’y time I goes ter market, an’ he lak’ ter mek me sick. Is he de agen’?”
“Yes, Mammy, and I dare say he is capable enough, although I do not care to come in contact with him if I can avoid it.”
“If I ketches yo’ in dat ’tater sprout’s office I gwine smack yo’ sure’s yo’ bo’n. Yo’ heah me? Why his ma keeps the sody-fountain on Main street. Wha-fo you gotter do wid such folks, Baby?”