Virginia interfered. Her experience of life was limited, but she understood the negro. “Don’t get out of the car, Ike,” she ordered.
“Ef dat spindle legged dude git outen dat caah, ah is boun’ to bus’ his haid wid ma fist,” predicted the woman.
Virginia feared no blood shed but deemed it desirable to take steps to avoid an argument certain to be loud and long and to add nothing to her dignity as a bystander. She answered Ike’s inquiries herself. “The children were out walking, I suppose, and had to cross the street?”
This overture slightly mollified the woman but she yet viewed the porcupine with distinct hostility.
“Are all of these poor children orphans?” continued Virginia, shaking her head at the pity of it.
“Yas’m, dey’s all orphants f’om the Lincoln Home, up de street.”
“And you had them out for their daily walk?”
“No, mam, dey gits out onest er week. Ah ain’ got no time to take ’em out every day.”
Virginia looked at the woman very thoughtfully. “Your work makes you very happy, doesn’t it?” she asked.
“Ah ain’ heard o’ no kind er wo’k mekin’ nobody happy. Ah jes allers was, an’ allers is happy. Dat’s me,” the woman explained.