“But, Mammy, they are worthy, respectable people,”—protested Mrs. Carruth.
“Hush yo’ talk, chile. I reckon I knows de diff’rence twixt quality an’ de yether kind. Dat’s no place fer yo’ to go at,” cried Mammy, all her instincts rebelling against the experiences her baby was forced to meet in her altered circumstances. “Gimme dat letter. I’se gwine straight off ter markit dis minit and I’ll see dat it get sont off ter de right pusson ’for I’se done anudder ting.”
“But what did you wish to ask me, Mammy?”
“Nuffin’. ’Taint no ’count ’tall. I’ll ax it when I comes back. Go ’long up-stairs and mek yo’ bed if yo pinin’ for occerpation,” and away Mammy flounced from the room, leaving Mrs. Carruth more or less bewildered. She would have been completely so could she have followed the old woman.
[CHAPTER VII—Mammy Generalissimo]
Half an hour later a short, stout colored woman in neat, print gown, immaculate white apron, gorgeous headkerchief and gray plaid shawl, entered the office of the Red Star Fire Insurance Company, at No. 60 State street, and walking up to the little railing which divided from the vulgar herd the sacred precincts of Mr. Elijah Sniffins, representative, rested her hand upon the small swinging gate as she nodded her head slightly and asked:
“Is yo’ Mister Sniffins, de locum agen’ fer de Fire Insur’nce Comp’ny?”
“I am,” replied that gentleman,—without removing from between his teeth the huge cigar upon which he was puffing until he resembled a small-sized locomotive, or changing his position—“Mr. Elijah Sniffins, representative of the Red Star Insurance Company. Are you thinkin’ of taking out a policy?” concluded that gentleman with a supercilious smirk.
Mammy’s eyes narrowed slightly and her lips were compressed for a moment.
“No, sir, I don’ reckon I is studyin’ ’bout takin’ out no pol’cy. I jist done come hyer on a little private bisness wid yo’.”