"Emma! Look here, confound it!—"
"Who gwine look after 'im? I axes you fum my heart, who gwine do it?—Never did hab no mo' sense dan a rabbit widout I 's by, en now dey aims to tun 'im loose! Ah, Lawd!"
"Emma, listen! Emma, what the—"
"Dem furrin women 'll do 'im lak dem women done po' old Cassius. Dey 'll conjure 'im! En widout I by, who gwine make 'im put one live frawg on 'is nekked stummick, so 's to sweat de speret o' dat frawg een, en de speret o' dat conjure out? No-buddy. Den he 'll up en die. Widout one Gawd's soul o' 'is own folkses to put de coppers on 'is eyes en' tie up de corpse's jaws.—Ah Lawd, ah Lawd!"
"Oh, shut up, you old idiot! I'm not coming home to my meals any more, if this is how you're going to behave!" This from Peter, disgustedly.
"Ain't you, suh? All right, suh, Mistuh Champneys, you 's be boss. But I glad to my Gawd Miss Maria ain't 'yuh to see dis day!" And Emma began to sniffle.
Peter pushed his untouched dinner aside, and reached for his hat. He looked at Emma Campbell irefully.
"Damn!" exploded Peter.
Emma Campbell got to her feet with astounding quickness, ran into the kitchen, and returned in a moment with another platter of chicken, rice, and gravy.
"'Yuh, chile. Set down en eat yo' bittles. You ain't called on to hab no hard feelin's 'bout dis chicken. 'T ain't none o' ours, nohow." Peter resumed his chair and waived cross-examination.