“I’ll help you if I can, Mammy Blairsdale. What is it?”
“Kin yo’ tell me who dat girl down yonder is?”
“Which girl?” asked Forbes, turning to look down the corridor.
“None yo’ kin see. I means de one dat’s yonder at Miss Constance’s counter.”
“Oh, that one? Why, she is a Miss Boggs, isn’t she?”
“No, she ain’t,” contradicted Mammy, emphatically. “She may call herse’f Miss Boggs if she wanter, but I’ll bait yo’ she ain’t Miss Boggs no mo’n I’m Miss Brown! I’se seen dat girl somewhar’s else befo’, an’ I’se gwine ter fin’ more ’bout her dan I knows now. She favors someone else I knows, an’ I ain’t got er mite er use fer dat someone else, neider. Is yo’ know Mr. ’Lijer Sniffins?”
“The Fire Insurance Agent down on State Street?”
“Yas, sir, dat’s him I means.”
“Yes, by sight, and enough to have him insure the few worldly goods I possess.”
“He’s at dat counter de hull endurin’ time, ’specially when he git a notion Miss Constance gwine come down, and he’n dat girl jes’ as thick as thieves.”