"And I think that there is about you excellent material for the making of a man."
"I dunno; but that's what old Alf says."
"Who is old Alf?"
"He's a nigger; but lemme tell you thar ain't no whiter man nowhar than he is. He works fur my uncle, ur ruther sorter craps it on the sheers. He don't peer to kere fur nobody much but me an' his daughter, that's all crippled up with the rheumatiz, an' when she cries in the night with her pains, it don't make no diffunce how hard he has worked durin' the day, he takes her up in his arms, an' walks erbout with her till she hushes. That's what I call a white man. Whar air you frum, Mr. Potter?"
"From almost everywhere."
"Whar do you live?"
"Nearly everywhere."
"Ain't you got nothin' ter bind you down ter one place?"
"No."
"Then you ain't ez well off ez old Alf, fur he has got that little crippled-up gal."