Archdale became desperate. “I did not say you could,” he cried, with the manner of one who puts his foot in the crack of a closing door. “You can wait there today, as I will be in court all morning; but tomorrow you must find somewhere else.” “By tuhmorruh I goin’ hab dis goat wash till yuh can’t tell um from one of dem rosebush in de pahk!” Porgy assured him with an ingenuous smile. “Yuh is goin’ to be mighty lubbin’ of dis goat attuh a while, Boss.” “No; goats don’t wash, Porgy. Away you go after today.” But the power of absolute conviction was not in Archdale’s voice. His foot was still in the crack; but he knew that the door was closing. “All right, Frasier; I’ll see you now about your divorce business,” he said to the other negro, and showed him into the office. Presently through an open window behind Porgy came the sound of Archdale’s voice: “All right, Frasier. Out with it. The gentleman who has come down to improve moral conditions among the negroes thinks you are a menace. He is going to have you indicted for granting divorces illegally.” In a voice very different from the one in which he had arraigned Porgy, Frasier began: “I fin’ so much nigger onsattify wid dere marriage, an’ I hyuh tell ob a t’ing dey calls divorce.” “Yes?” encouraged his questioner. “So fuh a long time now I been separate dem wid a divorce wut I mek up fuh de pu’pose. An’ he go fine, Boss. I done mek too much nigger happy.” “Have you one of the papers with you?” Silence; and then Archdale’s voice again. “‘I, Simon Frasier, hereby divorce Rachel Smalls and Columbus Devo for the charge of one dollar; signed, Simon Frasier.’ Well, that is simple enough. Where did you get this seal?” “I done buy um from de junk-shop Jew, Boss.” “Don’t you know there is no such thing as divorce in this State?” “I hyuh tell dere ain’t no such t’ing fuh de w’ite folks; but de nigger need um so bad, I ain’t see no reason why I can’t mek up one wut sati’fy de nigger? He seem tuh work berry well, too, till dat sof’ mout’ gentleman come ’roun’ an’ onsettle all my client.” A groan floated through the window to Porgy’s ears, causing him to indulge in a slow, malicious smile. Then in a pained voice the negro lawyer proceeded: “He been keepin’ me alibe, Boss. An’ wut mo’, he keep de nigger straight. Dis gentleman say dat dey gots tuh lib tuhgedduh anyhow till dey done dead. Dat’s de law, he say. But nigger ain’t mek dataway. I done get um all properly moralize, and dis same gentleman tell um dat my paper ain’t no mo’ dan a license tuh ’dulterate. So now dey just leabe each odduh anyhow, and I ain’t gets no dollar. An’ now he say he goin’ jail me, wut mo’!” There was a moment of silence, then Porgy heard Archdale’s voice calling a number; then: “Hello! Is that the Solicitor’s office? Mr. Dennis, please.”