“Who, Mr. Tom?” Scilla returned, having recovered sufficiently to being another pasquinade. “You ain’ think I’m play’n’, is you? Jes’ lemme git started talkin’ ’bout w’ite folks funny ways, an’ you sho will lissen w’at I’m tellin’ you.... But lemme shet up,” she added hurriedly; seeing the form of another visitor entering the front door. “’Cause hyuh come Mr. Felo; an’ too many witness ain’ good w’en it come to havin’ a coat-scrape.”
Felo was a short, stoop-shouldered, yellow man of about thirty; his face having a set look which seemed to give the impression that he was constantly anticipating unpleasant news. He was dressed in a neat, heterogeneous fashion, his garments quietly declaring themselves donations from various male members of his “white folks family.”
As he came into the room, he saluted the house with an eloquent gesture, then exclaimed, raising his right hand high above his head:
“Peace an’ happiness to de castle; an’ glad titus (tidings) to who-some-ever gathered hyuh tonight in Gawd’s name!”
Going over to the fire, he shook hands with Tom; then turning to the women, said:
“Sis’ Susan, how you do? An’ ole loud-mouth Scilla, w’at you got to say?”
Scilla laughed good-naturedly at the sally, and before she could reply, Tom said:
“Leave Scilla stay quiet, Felo, for Gawd sake. She done talk so till my head feel feev’ish lis’nin’ at her.” Then addressing Scilla, he said: “Gal, shet yo’ mouth, an’ leave Felo tell us how him an’ Sis’ Fanny gittin’ ’long yonder.”