“Can she cook?”
“Cook!” The genial titter again captured his dusky escort. “When she got de fixens, Ah reck’n she de beaten’es cook in dis heah county.”
“How much do you earn, driving that hack?”
Uncle Jefferson ruminated. “Well, suh, ’pens on de weddah. Mighty lucky sometimes dis yeah ef Ah kin pay de groc’ry man.”
“How would you both like to live here with me for a while? She could cook and you could take care of me.”
Uncle Jefferson’s eyes seemed to turn inward with mingled surprise and introspection. He shifted from one foot to the other, swallowed difficultly several times, and said, “Ah ain’ nebbah seed yo’ befo’, suh.”
“Well, I haven’t seen you either, have I?”
“Dat’s de trufe, suh, ’deed et is! Hyuh, hyuh! Whut Ah means ter say is dat de ol’ ’ooman kain’ cook no fancy didoes like what dey eats up Norf. She kin jes’ cook de Ferginey style.”
“That sounds good to me,” quoth Valiant. “I’ll risk it. Now as to wages—”
“Ah ain’ specticulous as ter de wages,” said Uncle Jefferson. “Ah knows er gemman when Ah sees one. ’Sides, ter-day’s Friday en et’s baid luck. Ah sho’ is troubled in mah min’ wheddah we-all kin suit yo’ perpensities, but Ah reck’n we kin take er try ef yo’ kin.”