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He was tall and black and bald, with white side-whiskers cut very short, and a rim of white wool around his head. He was dressed in an old black coat, and held in his hand an ancient beaver hat around which was a piece of rusty crape. "Well, Jabez?" said his mistress, after the salutations were over, "How are you getting along!" "Well, mist'is, not very well, not at all well, ma'am.
"You are a wicked, hardened old sinner!" declared the old lady, vehemently. "Nor, I ain't, mist'is; I clar' I ain't," protested Jabez, with unruffled front. "You treat your wives dreadfully." "Nor, I don't, mist'is. You ax 'em ef I does. Ef I did, dee would n' be so many of 'em anxious t' git me. Now, would dee? I can start in an' beat a' one o' dese young bloods aroin' heah, now."
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