“’Cause talkin’ is ketchin’,” Lizzie answered. “An’ some people got a reckless way o’ speakin’ dey words twice an’ makin’ ’um diffunt. So you gotta watch out an’ keep from tellin’ too much. An’ any way, de boy done wiped his lips; an’ me an’ Chester jus’ ’bout ready to fix we-all mouf for some o’ Sis’ Susan gumbo, befo’ we start out for church, yonder to Gritny.” Getting up from the floor, she shook herself like a hen emerging from a dust bath, kicked her shoes aside, and called out with energy: “Come on, Sis’ Smiley, lemme help you fix de plates. Dey got two hongry niggers hyuh kin outeat a mul’tude o’ Izzalites.” Then looking at Chester, she said to him boisterously: “Boy, drap yo’ ole long self over to dis side de table an’ try’n’ look like you got a intrus’ in de things goin’ on!... You ain’ never heah’d tell ’bout gumbo befo’?” Chester simpered good-naturedly and took a seat at the table. When the gumbo was served, Lizzie sat down alongside of him and they began eating. Dink’s whimpering music was heard over in the corner of the room, waking like a timely invitation, and several members began humming softly. Gussie, eager for conversation, was about to speak; when Nat, preferring to have no irrelevant distraction, held up his hands for silence, rolling his eyes ominously. Gussie obeyed the sign, and the humming flowed on uninterrupted. By degrees it gathered volume, sustained and fervent; every one surrendering unconsciously to the ingratiating lilt of the pulsing melody. Tom sat humming with his hands to his head, his elbows resting on his knees. Susan was sitting opposite, swaying to and fro in rhythmic contemplation. Nat sat upright with his head resting against the back of his chair, his brawny hands clasping the chair legs. Uncle Foteen sat with his eyes closed, every now and then intoning a low “A-men.” The women accentuated the rhythm as they hummed, with a gentle patting of the feet. And Felo’s spasmodic interpolation of a picturesque word or a fragmentary line from the song proper, added rare charm to the fleeting tuneful moments. Lizzie and Chester were eating with evident enjoyment, apparently interested in the obligato of voices. Having finished her gumbo, Lizzie leaned back in her chair, and in a spirit of careless mischief began singing lustily the old street song, “Mama got a baby called “Ti-nah-nah-’nah ’Ti-nah-nah ’nah, ’nah....” Felo’s loud reprimand brought her song to an abrupt close. Glowering with indignation, he called to her: “Gal, git out o’ hyuh wid yo’ strumpet ways! W’at you take dis place to be, anyhow? You better go out yonder on de road, an’ play wid yo’ kind, if you can’ ack right w’en you git ’munks people w’at know how to be decen’.” “But no, Mr. Felo,” Lizzie answered with genuine surprise. “You ain’ mean to call me out my name like dat, is you?”