MRS. BLUNT.
How y’all sisters?
SISTER THOMAS.
Very well, Miz Blunt, how you?
MRS. BLUNT.
Oh, so-so.
MRS. TAYLOR.
I’m kickin’, but not high.
MRS. BLUNT.
Well, thank God you still on prayin’ ground an’ in a Bible country. Me, I ain’t so many today. De niggers got my Daisy’s name all mixed up in dis mess.
MRS. TAYLOR.
You musn’t mind dat, Sister Blunt. People jus’ will talk. They’s talkin’ in New York an’ they’s talkin’in Georgy an’ they’s talkin’ in Italy.
SISTER THOMAS.
Chile, if you talk folkses talk, they’ll have you in de graveyard or in Chattahoochee one. You can’t pay no ’tention to talk.
MRS. BLUNT.
Well, I know one thing. De man or women, chick or child, grizzly or gray, that tells me to my face anything wrong ’bout my chile, I’m goin’ to take my fist (Rolls up right sleeve and gestures with right fist) and knock they teeth down they throat. (She looks ferocious) ’Case y’all know I raised my Daisy right round my feet till I let her go up north last year wid them white folks. I’d ruther her to be in de white folks’ kitchen than walkin’de streets like some of dese girls round here. If I do say so, I done raised a lady. She can’t help it if all dese mens get stuck on her.
MRS. TAYLOR.
You’se tellin’ de truth, Sister Blunt. That’s whut I always say: Don’t confidence dese niggers. Do, they’ll sho put you in de street.
MRS. THOMAS.
Naw indeed, never syndicate wid niggers. Do, they will distriminate you. They’ll be an anybody. You goin’to de trial, ain’t you?