"Ooh, mamma!" cried her son, at that moment. "Come and see the funny man coming down the street. Ooh, but he is so funny!" She moved away guiltily. A moment later, he arose and took his leave.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
"Please Git d' Ole Man Outta Jail"
"Ump-um-um! Man, you done bring dat book heah t'day 'n' I ain' got a cent. Nary a cent!"
"Oh, but you're a good joker," he laughed, depreciatingly. "You drew four or five great big dollars Saturday night, and I know you saved a part of it for the book, as you said you would, didn't you?"
"Yesser, yesser, ah knows ah said I would; but sumpin' done happened since then; sumpin' I wa'n't figurin' on. Sumpin' I sho wasn't lookin' fo'."
"Oh...."
"Yes," embarrassed. "Y'see, it's lak dis: Ma ole man 'e went down town Sat'dy night 'n'—well, 'e got'n a li'l trouble. Yes, lak a nigga, y' know. Got in dis heah trouble, 'n it done took all I had t' get'm out; 'sides, I did'n' have 'nough 'n' had t' borra frum ma whi' people."
"That's too bad indeed," said Wyeth. Sometimes he said this freely, and again, his voice carried a touch of disappointment and impatience, because, sometimes he met a half dozen such instances, when he went to deliver on Monday. As a rule, and since he was by now accustomed to it, he offered sympathy to the unfortunate wife who had to pay so many fines, and went his way.