“No; dey is diff’rent fuh true,” replied Bess. “An’ yuh won’t nebber onduhstan’. All two dem gal gots baby fuh keep alibe.” She heaved a deep sigh; and then added, “Dey is jus’ ’oman, an’ nigger at dat. Dey is doin’ de bes’ dey kin--dat all.” She was looking down at the baby while she spoke, and when she raised her eyes and looked at Porgy, he saw that they were full of tears. “But you, Bess; you is diff’rent f’om dat?” he said, with a gently interrogating note in his voice. “Dat ’cause Gawd ain’t mek but one Porgy!” she told him. “Any ’oman gots tuh be decent wid you. But I gots fuh tell yuh de trut’, widout Porgy I is jus’ like de res’.” A shadow drifted across their laps, and they lifted their faces to the sky. A solitary buzzard had left the circle that had hung high in the air all morning, and was swinging back and forth over the Row, almost brushing the parapet of the roof as it passed. While Porgy and Bess looked, it suddenly raised the points of its wings, reached tentative legs downward, spread its feet wide, and lit on the edge of the roof directly over their room. “My Gawd!” exclaimed Maria, who was standing near. “Crown done sen’ he buzzud back fuh bring trouble. Knock um off, Porgy. Fer Gawd’ sake, knock um off befo’ he settle!” The cripple reached out and picked up a brick-bat. The happiness had left his face, and his eyes were filled with fear. With a swing of his long, powerful arm, he sent the missile on its errand. It struck the parapet directly beneath the bird. With a spasmodic flap of wings, the black body lifted itself a few feet from the building, then settled suddenly back. For a moment it hopped awkwardly about, as though the roof were red hot beneath its feet, then folded its wings, drew its nude head in upon its breast, and surveyed the court with its aloof, malevolent eyes. “T’row agin,” Maria called, handing Porgy another brick-bat. But he seemed not to hear. His face quivered, and he hid it in his hands. “Sonny,” the big negress called to a small boy who was standing near, looking at the bird with his mouth open. “Git out on de roof wid uh stick, an’ run dat bird away.” But Porgy plucked at her skirt, and she looked down. “Let um be,” he said in a hopeless voice. “It too late now. Ain’t yuh see he done settle, an’ he pick my room fuh light ober? It ain’t no use now. Yuh knows dat. It ain’t no use.” § The next morning Porgy sat in his accustomed place by Archdale’s door. Autumn had touched the oaks in the park across the way, and they brushed the hard, bright sky with a slow circling motion, and tossed handfuls of yellow leaves down upon the pedestrians who stepped briskly along. King Charles Street was full of hurrying men on their way to the cotton offices and the big wholesale warehouses that fronted on the wharves. Like the artery of a hale old man who has lain long asleep, but who wakens suddenly and springs into a race, the broad thoroughfare seemed to pound and sing with life.