“Den you would ’a’ fixed it, wouldn’t you? Set down an’ eat yo’ breakfus’, Ike, an’ don’t you nevah let on when Mas’ Estridge talkin’, you jes’ go ’long ’bout yo’ wuk an’ keep yo’ mouf shet, ’ca’se ef evah he wake up now he gwine to die right straight off.”
“Lawd he’p him not to wake up den, ’ca’se he ol’, but we needs him. I do’ know whut I’d do ef I didn’t have Mas’ Bob to wuk fu’. You got ol’ Miss Randolph’s present ready fu’ him?”
“Co’se I has. I done made him somep’n’ diffunt dis yeah.”
“Made him somep’n’ diffunt—whut you say, Lize?” exclaimed the old man, laying his knife and fork on his plate and looking up at his wife with wide-open eyes. “You ain’t gwine change afteh all dese yeahs?”
“Yes. I jes’ pintly had to. It’s been de same thing now fu’ mo’ ’n twenty yeahs.”
“Whut you done made fu’ him?”
“I’s made him a comfo’t to go roun’ his naik.”
“But, Lize, ol’ Miss Cla’indy allus sont him gloves knit wif huh own han’. Ain’t you feared Mas’ Estridge gwine to ’spect?”
“No, he ain’t gwine to ’spect. He don’t tek no notice o’ nuffin’, an’ he jes’ pintly had to have dat comfo’t fu’ his naik, ’ca’se he boun’ to go out in de col’ sometime er ruther an’ he got plenty gloves.”