William uttered a cry; he knew that he was struck, but he was not sure how or where. He was left with a blank mind and no repartee. Again he dashed from the room. In the hall, near the open front door, he came to a sudden halt, and Mrs. Baxter and Jane heard him calling loudly to the industrious Genesis: “Here! You go cut the grass in the back yard, and for Heaven's sake, take that dog with you!” “Grass awready cut roun' back,” responded the amiable voice of Genesis, while the lawnmower ceased not to whir. “Cut all 'at back yod 's mawnin'.” “Well, you can't cut the front yard now. Go around in the back yard and take that dog with you.” “Nemmine 'bout 'at back yod! Ole Clem ain' trouble nobody.” “You hear what I tell you?” William shouted. “You do what I say and you do it quick!” Genesis laughed gaily. “I got my grass to cut!” “You decline to do what I command you?” William roared. “Yes, indeedy! Who pay me my wages? 'At's MY boss. You' ma say, 'Genesis, you git all 'at lawn mowed b'fo' sundown.' No, suh! Nee'n' was'e you' bref on me, 'cause I'm got all MY time good an' took up!” Once more William presented himself fatefully to his mother and Jane. “May I just kindly ask you to look out in the front yard?” “I'm familiar with it, Willie,” Mrs. Baxter returned, a little wearily. “I mean I want you to look at Genesis.” “I'm familiar with his appearance, too,” she said. “Why in the world do you mind his cutting the grass?” William groaned. “Do you honestly want guests coming to this house to see that awful old darky out there and know that HE'S the kind of servants we employ? Ye gods!” “Why, Genesis is just a neighborhood outdoors darky, Willie; he works for half a dozen families besides us. Everybody in this part of town knows him.” “Yes,” he cried, “but a lady that didn't live here wouldn't. Ye gods! What do you suppose she WOULD think? You know what he's got on!” “It's a sort of sleeveless jersey he wears, Willie, I think.”