“Ef hit ain’t my bus’ness, I’d like to know whose it gwine to be. I’s yo’ lawful wife an’ hit’s me dat’s a-sta’vin’ to tek keer of yo’ chile.”
“Doggone de chile; I’s tiahed o’ hyeahin’ ’bout huh.”
“You done got tiahed mighty quick when you ain’t nevah even seed huh yit. You done got tiahed quick, sho.”
“No, an’ I do’ want to see huh, neithah.”
“You do’ know nothin’ ’bout de chile, you do’ know whethah you wants to see huh er not.”
“Look hyeah, ooman, don’t you fool wid me. I ain’t right, nohow!”
Just then, as if conscious of the hubbub she had raised, and anxious to add to it, the baby awoke and began to wail. With quick mother instinct, the black woman went to the shabby bed, and, taking the child in her arms, began to croon softly to it: “Go s’eepy, baby; don’ you be ’f’aid; mammy ain’ gwine let nuffin’ hu’t you, even ef pappy don’ wan’ look at huh li’l face. Bye, bye, go s’eepy, mammy’s li’l gal.” Unconsciously she talked to the baby in a dialect that was even softer than usual. For a moment the child subsided, and the woman turned angrily on her husband: “I don’ keer whethah you evah sees dis chile er not. She’s a blessed li’l angel, dat’s what she is, an’ I’ll wo’k my fingahs off to raise huh, an’ when she grows up, ef any nasty niggah comes erroun’ mekin’ eyes at huh, I’ll tell huh ’bout huh pappy an’ she’ll stay wid me an’ be my comfo’t.”
“Keep yo’ comfo’t. Gawd knows I do’ want huh.”
“De time’ll come, though, an’ I kin wait fu’ it. Hush-a-bye, Jimsella.”
The man turned his head slightly.