The jailers were not vindictive. They were not even unkind. Some of them evidenced a mild affection for their charges, and would pause to exchange greetings with them on their rounds. But it would have meant effort to better the living conditions, and effort on the part of a white warden in August was not to be considered. They locked them up, gave them a sufficiency of hominy and white pork to sustain life, allowed them to see their visitors, talk, and sing to their heart’s content. If they were suffering from tuberculosis, or one of a hundred nameless and communicable diseases, when they entered, it was none of the County’s affair. And if they left showing that ash-pallor so unmistakable in a negro, it was as lamentable as it was unavoidable. But when all was said and done, what must one expect if one added to the handicap of a dark skin the indiscretion of swallowing cocaine and indulging in a crap game? Bess received but one visitor during her imprisonment. When the callers were admitted, on the day following her arrival, Maria loomed in the centre of the small, timid group. She went directly to Bess where she sat by the wall, with her eyes closed against the glare. The big negress wore an expression of solicitude, and her voice was low and surprisingly gentle as she said: “Porgy ask me tuh bring yer dis blanket fuh lie on, an’ dese fish an’ bread. How yuh is feelin’ now?” Then she bent over and placed a bundle in the prisoner’s lap. Bess opened her eyes in surprise. “I ain’t been expectin’ no fabors off none ob you folks,” she replied. “How come yuh tuh care ef I lib er die, attuh dat row I mek?” Maria lowered herself to a seat beside her. “I lubs dat nigger, Porgy, lak he been my chile,” she told her. “An’ wut mo’, I t’ink I know what done happen tuh yuh.” “Wut yuh know?” “I been in my do’ dat night; an’ I seen dat skunk, Sportin’ Life, sell yuh dat stuff. Ef I had er known den wut it wuz, I’d a been hyuh long side ob yuh now fuh murder.” After a moment, she asked: “Wut mek yuh don’t tell de jailluh who done um, an’ come on home?” Bess remained silent for a moment; then she raised her head and looked into the eyes of the older woman. “I’s a ’oman grown. Ef I tek dope, dat muh own business. Ef I ebber gits muh han’ on dat nigger, I goin’ fix um so he own mammy ain’t know um! But I ain’t goin’ gib um ’way tuh de w’ite folks.” The hard lines about her mouth softened, and, in scarcely more than a whisper, she added: “I gots tuh be decent ’bout somet’ing, ’less I couldn’t go back an’ look in Porgy face.” Maria got heavily to her feet. The other visitors were leaving, and she longed to be free of the high, brick walls. She dropped a hand on Bess’s shoulder. “Yuh do right, Sister. But ef dat yalluh nigger come tuh Catfish Row agin--leabe him fuh me--dat’s all!” Then the big negress joined the departing group, and passed out through the small steel doorway that pierced the massive gate.