Now she looked in exasperation at her son's swelling face.
"I 'cla' 'fo' Gawd!--ain't been home a week befo' he's fightin' over a
nigger wench lak a roustabout!"
Peter's head throbbed so he could hardly make out the details of
Caroline's face.
"But, Mother--" he began defensively, "I--"
"Me sweatin' over de wash-pot," the negress went on, "so's you could go
up North an' learn a lil sense; heah you comes back chasin' a dutty
slut!"
"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.
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