Joe: Yes, boss, Ah understan; but make yoself easy—Ah cant read a line of his hyar hanwritin.
Porter: Well, save me the job of nagging.
Joe: Yes, boss, Ah sho try. But you know how it is, if Ah was a first-class rememberin niggeh, I wouldn’t be doin a term in de Ohio State penitentiary, Ah’d be a spick and span porteh in a Pullman car, jing-jinglin de quartehs in mah pocket. (imitating car porter) Nashville de nex stop, suh! Brush you off, suh?
Porter: Quit your chatter and get out of here!
(Joe takes trash-basket and runs; Porter takes mail from pocket and glances at letter; then sits in attitude of despair, his head in his hands. Joe returns with empty basket, and begins to make a pretense of sweeping the floor with a broom, at the same time peering at Porter, trying to see his face.)
Porter (without looking up): Wouldn’t it be possible for you to get this room swept before I come on duty?
Joe: Misteh Porteh, you dunno how dey keep me on de jump in dis place—
Porter: They seem to turn you loose at this precise hour every evening, so you can come in and fill my lungs with dust.
Joe: Ah’ll jes keep a sorteh circulatin roun wid dis broom, so de capn think Ah’m workin if he comes, but Ah wont make dust enough to botheh you. (Porter continues to sit in attitude of dejection; Joe manifests first curiosity, then sympathy; he tries to attract attention) Ah-hum! (Porter does not look up) Ah-hum!
Porter: What is it, Joe?