The colored man sat behind his bar in a moment when trade was slack. Through the swinging doors entered the ragged Caucasian.
“Give me a good five-cent cigar,” he ordered.
The proprietor produced a box containing a number of dangerous-looking dark-brown rolls. The patron made a discriminating choice and then in the act of putting the cigar between his lips checked himself.
“Say, I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “Believe I’ll take a glass of beer instead.”
The negro returned the cigar to its box and drew a glass of beer. The customer drank it, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and started to withdraw.
“Yere, hol’ on, w’ite man,” said the negro, “you forgot to pay fur dat beer.”
“Why, I give you a cigar for it.”
“Yes, but you ain’t paid fur de cigar, neither.”
“But you’ve still got the cigar, ain’t you? What’s the matter with you, anyhow?”
The colored man scratched his head.