MRS. TAYLOR.
You ain’t nobody’s pretty baby, yo’self. You so ugly I betcha yo’ wife have to spread uh sheet over yo’ head tuh let sleep slip up on yuh.
LINDSAY.
(Threatening) You better git way from me while you able. I done tole you I don’t wanter break a breath wid you. It’s uh whole heap better tuh walk off on yo’ own legs than it is to be toted off. I’m tired of yo’ achin’ round here. You fool wid me now an’ I’ll knock you into doll rags, Tony or no Tony.
MRS. TAYLOR.
(Jumping up in his face) Hit me? Hit me! I dare you tuh hit me. If you take dat dare, you’ll steal uh hawg an’ eat his hair.
LINDSAY.
Lemme gwan down to dat church befo’ you make me stomp you. (He exits, right.)
MRS. TAYLOR.
You mean you’ll git stomped. Ah’m goin’ to de trial, too. De nex trial gointer be me for kickin’ some uh you Baptist niggers around.
(A great noise is heard off stage left. The angry and jeering voices of children. MRS. TAYLOR looks off left and takes a step or two towards left exit as the noise comes nearer.)
VOICE OF ONE CHILD.
Tell her! Tell her! Turn her up and smell her. Yo’ mama ain’t got nothin’ to do wid me.
MRS. TAYLOR.
(Hollering off left) You lil Baptis’ haitians leave them chillun alone. If you don’t, you better!
(Enter about ten children struggling and wrestling in a bunch. MRS. TAYLOR looks about on the ground for a stick to strike the children with.)
VOICE OF CHILD.
Hey! Hey! He’s skeered tuh knock it off. Coward!