The gumbo and pies were not only a pride to Aunt Susan, but were things of great marvel to the whole colored population the full length of the river “coast.” Of course the pies were best when yams were in season. But with a little “sweet milk” and a dash of vanilla extract, she was able to work wonders with the commoner variety of sweet potato, and few of her patrons knew the difference; unless they had some knowledge of truck gardening and were “well-posted ’bout potato-time.” Like all good cooks, Aunt Susan was careful not to reveal to her dusky sisters the secret of her original recipes. And if any white person asked her to tell how she prepared some of her dainty concoctions, she never went beyond saying: “Honey, de firs’ thing you gotta have is a black han’.” The telling of stories was a thing Aunt Susan looked to with the discrimination of a true judge of oral literature. Her patrons were free to pass the whole night in her shop, sitting before the cheerful fire on the hearth, provided they had a good story to tell or a good song to sing, whatever the model might be; it being understood that pies and gumbo were available for the growing appetite, and drip coffee could be furnished when needed to soothe the husky throats of the indefatigable singers. If the season happened to be summer, bountiful pitchers of lemonade with raspberry syrup took the place of black coffee; and every one could “lap up limonade an’ spread joy to a comfut.” Alcoholic drinks were taboo. Not because Aunt Susan had any religious scruples; for she frankly admitted she was “no licentage Chrishtun;” but because she felt that “a nigger in licker ain’ no fittin’ comp’ny for nobody decen’, Chrishtun or w’atsomeever.” It mattered little if a “member” hadn’t any money. If he could tell an interesting story, his credit was good until the end of the week, at which time he was expected to pay. Failing in this, he was declared “on-finanshul,” and was denied the privilege of the house until he reinstated himself. A black space on the side wall carried the various accounts marked up in chalk; a stroke for each pie or plate of gumbo, in one column; and a like marking for the drinks in another column. As each mark stood for a nickel, it was an easy matter to reckon when the time came for settling up.