"Cipher?"
"Not good enough to keep store, I don't reckon, but up as fur as twelve-times-twelve I ain't no slouch. 'Tother side of that is what gits me."
"Where is your home?"
"I'm f'm old Shelby."
"What's your father's religious denomination?"
"Him? Oh, he's a blacksmith."
"No, no—I don't mean his trade. What's his RELIGIOUS DENOMINATION?"
"OH—I didn't understand you befo'. He's a Freemason."
"No, no, you don't get my meaning yet. What I mean is, does he belong to any CHURCH?"
"NOW you're talkin'! Couldn't make out what you was a-tryin' to git through yo' head no way. B'long to a CHURCH! Why, boss, he's ben the pizenest kind of Free-will Babtis' for forty year. They ain't no pizener ones 'n what HE is. Mighty good man, pap is. Everybody says that. If they said any diffrunt they wouldn't say it whar I wuz—not MUCH they wouldn't."