"It must be well done."
"Certainly."
"Two coats all around."
"Just so."
"Even if it takes you all day?"
"Even if it takes me over half an hour, which it won't. I'll show you a job here that will make a black man turn green with envy. Just run upstairs and make yourself comfortable."
I retreated up the stairs to the kitchen door and waited for results, which I knew were sure to come. Mr. Bowser dipped and dished and sozzled and stirred until he had the liquid to his liking, and as he began on the stone wall I heard him chuckling:
"I said fifteen minutes, but I'll go slow and take twenty. The idea of a colored man sloshing around here all day to do this work. Let's see. I believe I'll take the overhead first."
I held my breath in suspense for a long minute. Then a yell arose from that cellar which jumped the cook out of her old slippers and made her cry out:
"For heaven's sake, Mrs. Bowser, have we been struck by another cyclone?"