“But, Mother,” he begged thickly, “I was simply walking home with Miss Dildine.”
“Miss Dildine! Miss Dildine!” exploded the ponderous woman, with an erasing gesture. “Ef you means dat stuck-up fly-by-night Cissie Dildine, say so, and don' stan' thaiuh mouthin', 'Miss Dildine, Miss Dildine'!”
“Mother,” asked Peter, thickly, through his swelling mouth, “do you want to know what did happen?”
“I knows. I tol' you to keep away fum dat hussy. She's a fool 'bout her bright color an' straight hair. Needn't be givin' herse'f no airs!”
Peter stood in the doorway, steadying himself by the jamb. The world still swayed from the blows he had received on the head.
“What girl would you be willing for me to go with?” he asked in faint satire.
“Heah in Niggertown?”
Peter nodded. The movement increased his headache.
“None a-tall. No Niggertown wench a-tall. When you mus' ma'y, I's 'speckin' you to go off summuhs an' pick yo' gal, lak you went off to pick yo' aidjucation.” She swung out a thick arm, and looked at Peter out of the corner of her eyes, her head tilted to one side, as negresses do when they become dramatically serious.
Peter left his mother to her stare and went to his own room. This constant implication among Niggertown
