  It was night, and Elm Street was dimly lighted. From a negro eating-house that opened into the street came sounds of harsh voices and the rattling of pans. Rachel, the mulatto, who believed everything a white person did or said, and who tested all information with: "Did de white folks say so?" was tugging at her little grandson, who was selling papers. "I can't sell papers here, grandma." "Why, son?" "The folks in the eating-house won't let me." "Did de white folks say so?" "No, ma'am. This route was given to another boy." "Did de white folks do it?" Just then some one threw a loaf of bread in the eating-house. It passed through the door and struck Rachel. Her little grandson pulled her apron and asked: "Did the white folks do that too?" "No, child. Dis is de way of it. Dis bread will fatten de chickens. De chickens will sharpen |
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