She gave way to tears, realizing that he did not approve of the address with which she had managed Adam.
"Marse Neil, Adam's a powerful low down nigger, Adam is. He's a no account darkie, is Adam. You know yourself, suh, how he laid on to me t'other night."
"If he had let you go off with a thieving yellow coon like that other nigger, you might say Adam was unkind—kindest thing he could do to beat you!"
She was so pretty she could not believe any man would really side with her husband against her. "Oh, yes, Marse Neil, suh; I don't go for to say as a darkie shouldn't beat his wife—any decen' Durgan nigger would, suh; but the thing that's low down, an' dreffle mean, an' no account 'bout Adam is that he don't know when to stop. Lickin'—that's all right, suh; but when a nigger goes on so long, an' me yellin' on him all the time—oh, Adam, he's a low down feller an' dreffle mean."
"You did more yelling than he did beating. He was crying all the time. I don't believe he hurt you—but go on."
Her tears were unfeigned: she cared only to regain Durgan's good-will.
"Go on with what, suh?"
"With what you were telling me."
There had certainly been no sequence discernible.
"Well, marsa, a poor girl's like me don't go for to tell lies for nothin'. Nex' time Adam holds a stick over me, I's got the States prison to hold over him. An' you's mistaken, marsa, honey, in sayin' as he didn't maul me black an' blue, for he did, suh—not that it wasn't right an' just this time, as you say so, marsa; but for nex' time I mus' have a way for to 'scuse myself to him. So you won't go for to tell him it isn't hangin', will you, marsa, honey, suh?"