"Ob course gentlemen ain't likes tuh smell goat," he replied.
The door opened, and Archdale looked out. From where Porgy sat he could have touched him with his hand; yet the cripple's gaze never wavered from the face of the negro, and his expression remained unchanged. Forestalling an interruption, he hastened on, in a voice that had become mildly incredulous, as he continued, "But it can't be dat attuh knowing buckra long as yuh been know um, yuh ain't onduhstan' um any better dan tuh t'ink dey would dribe away po' cripple in de heat."
Archdale made a movement that actually crossed Porgy's line of vision; but the beggar's face gave no sign of recognition. His voice rose to a pitch of indignation: "Yuh might be a lawyuh, an' all dat; but I ain't goin' tuh hab yuh stan' dey an' tell me dat Mistuh Archdale gots dem po' w'itetrash ways. Ob course he don't likes de smell ob goat; but he gots er haht in he breas' fuh de po' cripple nigger."
A wry smile tugged at the corner of Archdale's mouth.
"All right, Porgy," he said, "I got it all; but, gentleman or no gentleman, I can't have a goat on my doorstep. I would not have one client left in a week."
