“I got hole uv all uv um what is out uv wash; and them gwine. The buttons is shackledy on all uv um, too. I wish I wuz a washer; then you wouldn't have to give yo' clothes out to these triflin' huzzies whar rams a iron over yo' things like they wuz made uv iron too.”
“I suppose that you are getting along pretty well, Mammy,” I remarked, irrelevantly.
“Oh, I kain' complain. I made two dollars an' five an' threppence out'n the Scott party last week; an' I hear tell uv some new folks on Franklin Street gwine give a big party, an' I'm spectin' somethin' out uv dat. Lawdy, Lawdy, Mahs William,” she added, after a pause given to reflection, “hit certainly does 'muse me to see how some 'r dese people done come up. But they kain' fool me. I knows what's quality in town an' what ain't. I can reckermember perfick when some uv these vay folks, when dey come to your pa's front do', never expected to be asked in, but jess wait thar 'bout their business ontwell yo' pa got ready to talk to um at the do'. Yes, sah. I bin see some uv dese vay people's daddies”—Mammy used this word advisedly—“kayin' their vittles in a tin bucket to their work; that what I bin see.”
I was shaving during this monologue of Mammy's, with my back to her. A sudden exclamation of the name of the Lord made me start around and endanger my nose. I was not startled at the irreverence of the expression, however, as sacred names were familiar interjections of Mammy's, as of all her race.
“Ev'y button off'n these draw's,” Mammy answered to my alarmed question—alarmed because I anticipated some disaster to my wardrobe. “Hit's a mortal shame. I'll take 'em home, an' Monday I'll get some buttons on Broad Street an' sew um on.”
This was embarrassing. I had twelve and a half cents in Spanish silver coin which I had reserved for the plate at church that day. I was going under circumstances that rendered a contribution unavoidable. I hated to expose my narrow means to Mammy, and said, carelessly, as I returned to my lather: “Oh, never mind. Another time will do, Mammy.”
“Another time! You reckermember my old sayin', don't you, 'a stitch in time saves nine'? An' mo'n dat, bein' as this is the only clean pah you got, you 'bleest to have um next week fer de others to go to wash.”
Confession was inevitable. “The fact is, Mammy, I don't happen to have any change to-day that I can hand you for the buttons.” I was thankful that my occupation permitted me to keep my face from Mammy.
“Oh, ez fer that, Mahs William, yo' needn't bother. I got 'nough change 'round 'most all de time.”
Mammy's tone was patronizing, and brought home to me such a realization of my changed and waning fortunes as no other circumstance could have done. Possibly I may have imagined it in my hypersensitiveness, but Mammy's voice in that sentence seemed transformed, and it was another mammy who spoke.