Jinny. (Turning away.) Yo’ sho’ will—er Marse Phil’d—
Simms. (As he goes up the steps.) En’ keep yo’ gran’chillun out dat saloom, Jinny, ef yo’ don’ want t’ see ’em cross de Jo’dan ahead o’ yo’! Dat Joe! Lawd-a-massy! De white in him ain’t done nobody no good’s fah’s dis—’Scuse me, sah!
(He stops suddenly and turns aside, bowing, on seeing Noyes and Georgie, who have opened the door and come out.)
Here is equal care to represent the speech of Southerners.
Noyes. My fathah? Yes, he gave way t’ his Comme’cial ambition by sellin’ powda an’ bullets t’ the Union—way back in ’62. That got him into a bunch o’ trouble, but it wasn’t what sta’ted the—slight fam’ly coolness!
Georgie. Wasn’t it? Why, I always hea’d—
Noyes. No, it came befo’ that. My gran’fathah an’ Phil’s—they were brothahs-in-law, you know—they began it in the fo’ties.
Georgie. Why?
Noyes. (Grimly.) I reckon the Morrows are tryin’ now t’ keep it da’k. But Lawd!—I don’t mind tellin’. It’s the old thing—both losin’ theah heads ovah the same woman.
Georgie. (Innocently.) How romantic! Phil’s gran’mothah?