"Yes," I replied, "but these folks despise you blacks; they seem to be both poor and proud."
"Yas, massa, dey'm pore 'cause dey wont work, and dey'm proud 'cause dey'r white. Dey wont work 'cause dey see de darky slaves doin' it, and tink it am beneaf white folks to do as de darkies do. Dis habin' slaves keeps dis hull country pore."
"Who told you that?" I asked, astonished at hearing a remark showing so much reflection from a negro.
"Nobody, massa; I see it myseff."
"Are there many of these poor whites around Georgetown?"
"Not many 'round Georgetown, sar, but great many in de up-country har, and dey'm all 'like—pore and no account; none ob 'em kin read, and dey all eat clay."
"Eat clay!" I said; "what do you mean by that?"
"Didn't you see, massa, how yaller all dem wimmin war? Dat's 'cause dey eat clay. De little children begin 'fore dey kin walk, and dey eat it till dey die; dey chaw it like 'backer. It makes all dar stumacs big, like as you seed 'em, and spiles dar 'gestion. It'm mighty onhealfy."
"Can it be possible that human beings do such things! The brutes wouldn't do that."
"No, massa, but dey do it; dey'm pore trash. Dat's what de big folks call 'em, and it am true; dey'm long way lower down dan de darkies."