“You ever let me yer er you gwine wadin’ in ’at creek en I swear ’fo’ God I’ll trash you ev’y step frum deh home.”
“Huh!” his wife grunted defiantly. “Shuh, Abrum Wilson! you ain’t man enough; your feared to tech me. I don’t want none er yo’ ol’ ’ligion. ’Sides anything ’at’s good ’nough for Jesus Christ certney is good ’nough fer me. De bible seh He went down into de water; now, Abrum, I can’t go down into de water en hat de preacher des sprinkle my haid out’n er gravy bowl, same as I does w’en I’s ironin’. Now w’t’s de use in talkin’ dat way. Whyn’t Christ des ax um fer er lil in er goa’d dipper? Seem lak dat enough ’cordin’ ter yo all’s way.”
Abraham had exhausted every argument in his brain already, so he could formulate no reply, but inflated almost to explosion with turbulent spleen, he resumed his seat in the door, while she, momentarily triumphant, bustled round the cottage to put their only child, little Asphalt, to bed. The latter two-year old innocent owed its name to the fact that he happened to be born one day while Abram was employed in laying asphalt pavement in the city. He was struck with the high-sounding name and told Caroline that the mixture had “des enough pitch in it fer er nigger child’s name.”
When she had put Asphalt to bed, Caroline timidly drew her chair near to his. He did not look at her.
“Now, Abrum,” said she, pacifically, “you is hat yo’ way, en I hain’t seh nothin’ ergin it all ’long sence we is married.” She waited a moment for him to speak, but as he was stubbornly silent she went on with growing firmness, as she slily eyed him askance: “I ’low ter jine de Baptist chu’ch, de Lawd willin’, en git my ’mersion ’long wid Sallie en Lindy. Brer Brown was here yistiddy en I done give ’im my promise; an he give me lessons w’en ter hol’ my bref ter keep from stranglin’.”
Abraham turned upon her with such suddenness that she shrank back into her chair as if smitten.
“You seh you is hehn? You seh you is?” he growled. “Well, we gwine see. You seh you is gwine wade out in dat creek lak er crippled duck. Le’ me des see it en I’ll git er divo’ce sho en never put my foot in dis house ergin.
“You go git yo’ divo’ce,” she said sullenly, “I’s got er right ter my side same ez you.”
“Look yer, Ca’line!” he snapped out, rising clumsily to his feet, “you des seh ernurr word en I’ll pick up dat plank deh en ’fo’ God I’ll split it over yo’ haid. Huh!”
He waited a moment for the silenced woman to speak, but she did not answer him in words. She angered him more than ever by stealthily regarding him from the corner of her eye and humming, with as much gusto as her caution would allow, a hymn that was usually sung by the Baptists during their baptismal ceremonies.