Dem Chinks is crazy ’bout Niggahs an’ white people’s hearts. LUCY BELLE Go ’long! SLIM Sho! Dey kills yo’, cuts out yo’ heart, an’ eats it. Ef yo’ eats a heart nobody kin cunjuh yo’--an’ each one dat yo’ eat give yo’ a yeah’s luck. LUCY BELLE Yo’ crazy! I knowed Moy Wing ’long time. SLIM Kain’t trus’ none ob ’em. LUCY BELLE I ain’ scar’t-a him. He ain’ gwine ter do nuffin’ ter me. (_Shakes her head._) Onlies’ kin’-a job dat do fo’ me right now. SLIM How yo’ make dat out? LUCY BELLE Kain’t stay ’way from de chillen all de time. (_Sighs and drops down in a chair. Draws a hand across her forehead._) Gawd--! SLIM W’at’s de mattah? LUCY BELLE I’se tired. Wash dis mawnin’. Got ter go back dis aftahnoon an’ iron. SLIM Wuk yo’ ter deaf. LUCY BELLE Be twict as hard ef I’se wukkin’ ev’y day. (_With a little wistful cry._) Ef--ef Sam was only yere--den--den I would’n’ care how hard I haf ter wuk--or ’bout nuffin’--(_Staring abstractedly into space._) Be a yeah de fust-a nex’ monf since he wen’ ter jail. SLIM Sho’ nuff--! LUCY BELLE (_shaking her head_) Seem like five yeahs. (_Pause. Lucy Belle sits staring into space. Slim nonchalantly rolls a cigarette._) SLIM W’at become ob Jeff? LUCY BELLE I don’ know. Dey nevah done nuffin’ ter him. He was in de hospital fo’ a while. He lef’ town soon as he gits out an’ I ain’ nevah seen him since. SLIM (_at length, as he lights the cigarette_) How long is Sam up fo’? LUCY BELLE Fo’ yeahs--! SLIM Maybe he git out sooner--fo’ bein’ good. Kain’t tell. LUCY BELLE (_jumping up with an eager cry and searching his face_) Yo’--yo’ think so, Slim? SLIM Dey does sometimes. LUCY BELLE How--how soon yo’ think dey let him out? SLIM Don’ know. Yo’ nevah kain tell. LUCY BELLE Maybe in anoder yeah? SLIM Ef he have any luck. LUCY BELLE (_clasping her hands tightly together and raising her eyes heavenward_) Oh, Gawd! Ef he only do--! I kin make out fo’ ’noder yeah ef I keeps wukkin’ fo’ Moy--an’ washin’ extra yere at home like I is--an’ ef I keeps de room rented right ’long. SLIM Yo’ ain’ gwine ter have no trouble. LUCY BELLE Ef Pocher only keep dat room an’ pay me reg’lar. (_Old man Pocher is heard grumbling and grunting to himself immediately outside the door, off stage, Back._) Yere he come now! (_The door, Back, opens and Pocher enters, carrying a small package under his arms. He stands in the doorway and points angrily with his cane at the doorstep._) POCHER Look dere! Look! Yo’ see--! LUCY BELLE W’at--? POCHER (_trembling with anger and fear_) Salt on de do’step agin! LUCY BELLE Gawd sakes! POCHER Tol’ yo’ I was’n’ gwine ter put up wid it no longer! LUCY BELLE I did’n’ know dey done it. POCHER Yo’ bus’ness ter watch ’em! LUCY BELLE I does try ter. POCHER Oughter put de _po_-lice on ’em long ’go. LUCY BELLE Gwine ter--right ’way. Ain’ gwine ter wait ’noder minute. POCHER Turrible! Turrible! LUCY BELLE I knows, Mistah Pocher--but-- POCHER