SIMMS. No, we don’t like the way you’re runnin’ things. Now looka here, (Pointing at the Marshall) You got that lazy Lum Boger here for marshall and he ain’t old enough to be dry behind his ears yet … and all these able-bodied means in this town! You won’t ’low nobody else to run a store ’ceptin’ you. And looka yonder (happening to notice the street light) only street lamp in town, you got in front of your place. (Indignantly) We pay the taxes and you got the lamp. VILLAGER. Don’t you-all fuss now. How come you two always yam-yamming at each other? CLARK. How come this fly-by-night Methodist preacher over here … ain’t been here three months … tries to stand up on my store porch and tries to tell me how to run my town? (MATTIE CLARK, the Mayor’s wife, comes timidly to the door, wiping her hands on her apron.) Ain’t no man gonna tell me how to run my town. I God, I ’lected myself in and I’m gonna run it. (Turns and sees wife standing in door. Commandingly.) I God, Mattie, git on back in there and wait on that store! MATTIE. (Timidly) Jody, somebody else wantin’ stamps. CLARK. I God, woman, what good is you? Gwan, git in. Look like between women and preachers a man can’t have no peace. (Exit CLARK.) SIMMS. (Continuing his argument) Now, when I pastored in Jacksonville you oughta see what kinda jails they got there…. LOUNGER. White folks needs jails. We colored folks don’t need no jail. ANOTHER VILLAGER. Yes, we do, too. Elder Simms is right…. (The argument becomes a hubbub of voices.) TAYLOR. (Putting down his basket) Now, I tell you a jail…. MRS. TAYLOR. (Emerging from the store door, arms full of groceries, looking at her husband) Yeah, and if you don’t shut up and git these rations home I’m gonna be worse on you than a jail and six judges. Pickup that basket and let’s go. (TONY meekly picks up the basket and he and his wife exit as the sound of an approaching guitar is heard off stage.) (Two carelessly dressed, happy-go-lucky fellows enter together. One is fingering a guitar without playing any particular tune, and the other has his hat cocked over his eyes in a burlesque, dude-like manner. There are casual greetings.) WALTER. Hey, there, bums, how’s tricks? LIGE. What yo’ sayin’, boys? HAMBO. Good evenin’ sons. LIGE. How did you-all make out this evenin’, boys? JIM. Oh, them white folks at the party shelled out right well. Kept Dave busy pickin’ it up. How much did we make today, Dave? DAVE. (Striking his pocket) I don’t know, boy, but feels right heavy here. Kept me pickin’ up money just like this…. (As JIM picks a few dance chords, Dave gives a dance imitation of how he picked up the coins from the ground as the white folks threw them.) We count it after while. Woulda divided up with you already if you hadn’t left me when you seen Daisy comin’ by. Let’s sit down on the porch and rest now.