"Thank you. However, if he says he does, I'll just continue to listen to him if you don't mind."
"Humph," and the "yellow gentleman" passed in.
Out again—eyeing both the old man and me with disgust that was unconcealed. To him, "You don't know whutchu're doin'."
Deep silence by all. Exit the yellow brother.
To the old man, I said, "Is that your son?"
"Lawd, no, that's jus' a roomer."
Out came the yellow brother again. "See here, Uncle, if you want me to fix that fence you'd bettuh come awn out heah now. It's gettin' dark."
I closed my notebook and arose. "Don't let me interfere with your program, Brother Nelson."
The old man settled back in his chair. His eyes inspected the sky, his jaw "sorta" set. The yellow brother looked at him a minute and passed on.
Five minutes later. Enter, the Madam. She also was of the yellow variety with the suspicious and spiteful look of an undersized black Belgian police dog. A moment of silence—a word to him.