Deacon. (rises bewildered) Ah—oh—what—what's this? The huzzy! (takes handkerchief from breast pocket and wipes lips) Ugh! The infern—(calls loudly) Pete! Pete! Daisy! Pete! Where in the mischief are they? Why don't they come! Pete! Pete! Pete! (walks excitedly R.)
Re-enter Mrs. T., Helen, Miss A., and Daisy, L. 2 E.
Mrs. T. Why, brother, what is the matter? Are you going mad?
Deacon. (angrily) No—yes—I am mad. Madam, what do you mean by allowing your colored cook the freedom of this house?
Mrs. T. (in amazement) Why, brother, I have no colored cook.
Deacon. You have! Now, don't say again you haven't, for I know better. If she ain't your cook, she fills some position in your house, which is all the same.
Helen. Why, uncle, there's not a colored woman in this house.
Miss A. Deacon, I fear you have been indulging again, and you promised me so faithfully never to touch another drop. Oh, dear, the depravity of mankind is distressing!
Deacon. Heaven preserve me! Hold your tongues, every one of you. Don't you suppose I know a colored woman when I see one! I've been most infern—grossly insulted by one.
Mrs. T. Where?