Somebody hailed William Freeland one day as he rode along.
“Hear your niggers are holding some kind of a revival, old man,” he called. “Got a good preacher?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Freeland laughed back, waving his whip. Next morning, however, he spoke to Henry.
“Oh, Henry, what’s this I hear about a revival going on?”
“Whatchu sayin’, Massa William?” Henry’s lips hung flabby. Not a trace of intelligence lighted his face.
“A revival! You know what a revival is.” Freeland tried to curb his impatience.
“Oh, yessuh!” Henry showed his teeth in a wide grin. “Yessuh, Ah knows a revival. Yes, suh!”
“Well, is there a revival going on around here?”
“Revival? Roun’ hyear?” The whites of Henry’s eyes resembled marbles.
Freeland kicked back his chair. What the hell difference did it make?