Joe: Well, Miss Azalea Adair she try all de time to find some way to earn money. Dey had a great liberry in de house, an she read all dem books, an got dem in her haid, an she begin to write. Of course, de editors up Noth, day was glad to git what a great lady like Miss Azalea Adair write, so dey sent a man down from New Yok fo to see her an pay her money, an git her to sen some mo writin. An mah ole daddy, he was de hackman what met dat Yankee man, an drove him to Miss Azalea Adair’s home. It was a ole hack, de horse was so weak he could hardly stagger—cause you see how it was, all de money what de fares brung in had to go to keep Miss Azalea Adair alive. Well, dat Yankee man, he pay Miss Azalea Adair fifty dollars fo what she write, an den he go away. An Major Caswell—dat’s de husban—he find out she got dat money, an he grab her by de wrist an twist it till she mos faint—she too proud to make a soun, you know—an he take dat money an sneak off. Mah old daddy, he peek through de do an he see dat happen. He take de kitchen knife an sneak out an folleh de Major—it was in de night, an black dark—an he stab him through an kill him an take de money. Yes, suh, he was a white man, too, but dis ole niggeh slave, he kill him.
Porter: And did they catch him?
Joe: Mah old daddy? Naw, suh, boss, dey doan ketch him, he die in his bed wid de preacher prayin oveh him an de angels a waitin fo his soul. Maybe de police have some idea what happen, but dey wasn’t anbody care much bout dat ornery Major Caswell. An Miss Azalea Adair course she doan never speculate nothin, cause my ole man he doan take her dat fifty dollars all to onst, he jes kinds string it out, one or two dollars when he see day warnt nothin in de pantry.
Porter: What a story! What a story! And you say—by George! You say that happened in Nashville?
Joe: Yes, Misteh Porteh.
Porter: Well, now, that’s a funny thing. I was reading the other day—here, I think I have it in these magazines—here’s a fellow who says you couldn’t tell an interesting story about Nashville, Tennessee!
Joe: What’s de matter wid Nashville?
Porter: He thinks it’s too slow, too old-fashioned. Here’s what he says. (reads) “Fancy a novel about Chicago or Buffalo, let us say, or Nashville, Tennessee! There are just three big cities in the United States that are ‘story cities’—New York, of course, New Orleans, and, best of the lot, San Francisco.”
Joe: Well, Ah doan know nothin bout books, Misteh Porteh—
Porter: I know a little, and hope to know more. I’m writing some stories, and maybe some day I’ll write that story about Miss Azalea Adair. Is she dead?