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"'Is yer seed Dave, Dilsey? "'No, I ain' seed Dave, says Dilsey. "'Yer des oughter look at dat nigger; reckon yer would n' want 'im fer yo' junesey no mo'. Mars Walker cotch 'im stealin' bacon, en gone en fasten' a ham roun' his neck, so he can't git it off'n hisse'f. He sut'nly do look quare. En den de 'ooman bus' out laffin' fit ter kill herse'f.
"'Is yer seed Dave, Dilsey? "No, I ain' seed Dave, says Dilsey. "'Yer des oughter look at dat nigger; reckon yer wouldn' want 'im fer yo' junesey no mo'. Mars Walker cotch 'im stealin' bacon, en gone en fasten' a ham roun' his neck, so he can't git it off'n hisse'f. He sut'nly do look quare. En den de 'ooman bus' out laffin' fit ter kill herse'f.
Palford presented a more unyielding surface than he was accustomed to. And yet his hard courtesy was quite perfect. "I have been here some weeks." "I hope you like New York. Won't you have a seat?" The young lady from the notion counter and her friends began to sing the chorus of "He sut'nly was Good to Me" with quite professional negro accent.
Reckon she runs the kitchen all right. Anyways we's got white folks in the parlah, whah they allus orto be white folks." "Well, you ought to thank your friend what is his name Ducherd Decherd? Seems as though I had heard that name, below somewhere." "Yas, Mas' Henry 'Cherd. We does thank him. He sut'nly done fix us all up wid women-folks.
Bob and Molly sat down on opposite sides of the fireplace, Bob triumphant at last, and Molly watching him furtively. "I believe you has somethin' to say to me, Miss Johnson," said Bob, loftily. "Well, I sut'nly is glad to welcome you home ag'in, Mistuh Crittenden," said Molly. "Is you?" Bob was quite independent now, and Molly began to weaken slightly. "An' is dat all you got to say?"
It isn't possible for a wild beast to be in the blue room you know. Where is Lloyd?" "She's up heah, Miss Allison," called Mom Beck's voice. "She's so skeered, I'se pow'ful 'fraid she gwine to faint. They sut'nly is something in that room, honey, deed they is. I kin heah it movin' around now, switchin' he's tail an' growlin'!"
"He's not a fellow to go back on his word, anyhow," he insisted. There were more boarders than usual in the parlor. The young woman from the notion counter had company; and one of her guests was playing "He sut'nly was Good to Me" on the pianola with loud and steady tread of pedal. The new arrival had evidently not thought it worth his while to commit himself to permanency by taking a seat.
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