“I don’t want your old tabby!” said the beneficiary unfeelingly. “Now flatten out, while I give you the chloroform.” “All right, Doctah. Ah’s in de free-ward en ’tain’t costin’ me er cent! But Ah’s mighty skeered Ah gwineter wake up daid! Gord A’mighty, ef Ah dies, save mah sinful soul! Oh, Mars’ Judge Jesus, swing dat cha’yut down en kyah me up ter Hebben! Rickey, yo’ reck’n, arter all, Ah’s gwineter be er black angel? Hesh-sh! Ah’s driftin’ away, Doctah, Ah’s driftin’ away on de big wide ribber.” “Now you’re asleep,” declared the surgeon, and fell to with a flourish of the gory blade. The other reared herself. “Huh! How yo’ reck’n Ah’s gwineter be ersleep wid yo’ chunkin’ me in de shoht-ribs wid dat ar stick? Ain’ yo’ done cyarvin’ me up yet?” “Oh, nurse,” wailed Rickey, turning the drama into a new channel, “I can’t wake Greenie up! She won’t come out of the chloroform! She’s dying. Let’s all sing and maybe it’ll make it easier: “‘I went down to Jordan and what did I see, Coming for to carry me home? [Pg 159]A band of angels waiting for me, Coming for to carry me home!’” The melody, however, was too much for the prospective corpse. She sat up, shook the dead leaves from her hair and joined in, swaying her lean body to and fro and clapping her yellow-lined hands together in an ecstasy: “‘Sweeng low! Sweet Char-ee-yut! Comin’ fo’ t’kyah me ho-o-o-ome. Swee-eng low, swee-et Char-ee-yut! Comin’ fo’ t’kyah me home!’” The two were a strange contrast as they sang, the negro child swaying with the emotionalism of her race and her voice dropping instinctively to a soft alto accompaniment to the other’s rigid soprano, and lending itself to subtle half-tones and minor cadences. A twig snapped under Valiant’s foot. The singers faced about and saw them. Both scrambled to their feet, the black girl to look at them with a wide self-conscious grin. Rickey, tossing her short hair back from her freckled face, came toward them. “My goodness, Miss Shirley,” she said, “we didn’t see you at all.” She looked at Valiant. “Are you the man that’s going to fix up Damory Court?” she inquired, without any tedious formalities. [Pg 160] “Yes,” said Valiant. “Well,” she said critically, “you’ve got your job cut out for you. But I should say you’re the kind to do it.” “Rickey!” Shirley’s voice tried to be stern, but there was a hint of laughter in it. “What did I say now?” inquired Rickey. “I’m sure I meant it to be complimentary.” “It was,” said Valiant. “I shall try to deserve your good opinion.” “But what a ghastly play!” exclaimed Shirley. “Where did you learn it?” “We were playing Mis’ Poly Gifford in the hospital,” Rickey answered. “She’s got a whole lot of little pebbles that they cut out—” “Oh, Rickey!” expostulated Shirley with a shudder.