“Your old woman is an idiot,” responded the judge.

Williams came very close and peered solemnly through a branch of lilac. “Jedge,” he whispered, “the chillens.”

“What about them?”

Dropping his voice to funereal depths, Williams said, “They—they cain’t eat.”

“Can’t eat!” scoffed the judge, loudly. “Can’t eat! You must think I am as big an old fool as you are. Can’t eat—the little rascals! What’s to prevent them from eating?”

In answer, Williams said, with mournful emphasis, “Hennery.” Moved with a kind of satisfaction at his tragic use of the name, he remained staring at the judge for a sign of its effect.

The judge made a gesture of irritation. “Come, now, you old scoundrel, don’t beat around the bush any more. What are you up to? What do you want? Speak out like a man, and don’t give me any more of this tiresome rigamarole.”

“I ain’t er-beatin’ round ’bout nuffin, jedge,” replied Williams, indignantly. “No, seh; I say whatter got to say right out. ’Deed I do.”

“Well, say it, then.”

“Jedge,” began the negro, taking off his hat and switching his knee with it, “Lode knows I’d do jes ’bout as much fer five dollehs er week as ainy cul’d man, but—but this yere business is awful, jedge. I raikon ’ain’t been no sleep in—in my house sence docteh done fetch ’im.”

“Well, what do you propose to do about it?”

Williams lifted his eyes from the ground and gazed off through the trees. “Raikon I got good appetite, an’ sleep jes’ like er dog, but he—he’s done broke me all up. ’Tain’t no good, nohow. I wake up in the night; I hear ’im, mebbe, er-whimperin’ an’ er-whimperin’, an’ I sneak an’ I sneak until I try th’ do’ to see if he locked in. An’ he keep me er-puzzlin’ an’ er-quakin’ all night long. Don’t know how ’ll do in th’ winter. Can’t let ’im out where th’ chillen is. He’ll done freeze where he is now.” Williams spoke these sentences as if he were talking to himself. After a silence of deep reflection he continued: “Folks go round sayin’ he ain’t Hennery Johnson at all. They say he’s er devil!”

“What?” cried the judge.

“Yesseh,” repeated Williams, in tones of injury, as if his veracity had been challenged. “Yesseh. I’m er- tellin’ it to yeh straight, jedge. Plenty cul’d folks up my way say it is a devil.”

“Well, you don’t think so yourself, do you?”

“No. ’Tain’t no devil. It’s Hennery Johnson.”

“Well, then, what is the matter with you? You don’t care what a lot of foolish people say. Go on ’tending to your business, and pay no attention to such idle nonsense.”

“’Tis nonsense, jedge; but he looks like er devil.”

“What do you care what he looks like?” demanded the judge.

“Ma rent is two dollehs and er half er month,” said Williams, slowly.

“It might just as well be ten thousand dollars a month,” responded the judge. “You never pay it, anyhow.”