“Whut’s duh matter wid yo’, Ida?” Gert wanted. to know.

“Hurry up dere, Gert—sen’ me over a load o’ gin!”

“Yo’ gone crazy, woman? Talkin’ wild lak dat over a little gin!”

“Ne’ mind, git dat gin over here quick, yo’ heah?”

“Ah’ll git it over dere quick as Ah kin. Cain’t git it no quicker. What yo’ all excitin’ fo’? Neber heard anyone gittin’ dat excited ’bout likker.”

Ida’s voice rose into a wail.

“Oh, duh dirty slut!”

“Look yere, woman, who yo’ callin’ a dirty slut?” Gert shouted into the phone.

“Ah’ll cut her throat!”

“Who’s throat yo’ goin’ to cut dere, woman? Who yo’ talkin’ about? Yo’ won’t do no cuttin’!”

“Ah don’ mean yo’ throat, Gert.”

“Bet yo’ sweet life yo’ don’ mean mah throat!”

“Ah’ll whittle her down.”

“Who yo’ all talkin’ about?”

“Oh, she’s here!”

“Who dere?”

“Oh, dat lowdown ofay slut! She’s here wid mah man!”

A number of the girls who were at Gert’s, including Cokey Jenny, were attracted by Gert’s end of the conversation on the phone.

“What man yo’ talkin’ ’bout, Ida?” Gert asked her.

“Mah man—Money Johnson—what man yo’ think?”

Gert laughed.

“Why he’s ever’ body’s man, woman!”

“Oh, Gert, duh Lawd done answered mah prayer. He done sent bof o’ dem here. Hurry up wid dat gin.”

Ida hung up.

Gert turned away from the phone and shook her head.

“Dat woman’s lak to go out o’ her mind.”

“Who was dat, Gert?” inquired one of the girls, curiously.

“Big Ida. She say Money Johnson an’ his white trash is over dere. She jus’ lak to kill duh bof o’ dem Ah ’spect. She’ll cut dat gal so many times she’ll think she’s a slot-machine. Ah cain’t be bothered wid dese yere killin’s, dese yere insides and outsides and nerpicides and suicides. Ah’m a business woman and Ah got to make money. Ah got rent to pay. Gotta be careful o’ telephone talk. Git me in trouble.”

One of the girls laughed harshly.

“Ah, yo’ make me sick about dis ol’ joint o’ yours.”

Gert was indignant.

“Look yere, woman, don’t yo’ go callin’ dis yere dump a joint!”

Cokey Jenny eased over to Nigger Gert.

“What’s the trouble, Gert? Did she really say Babe and Money Johnson is at her place and there’s goin’ to be trouble?”

Gert shrugged her shoulders.

“Nothin’ but trouble! Nothin’ but trouble!”

“That big nigger Ida’ll kill that dame sure’n hell,” Jenny said to herself. “Well, she’s in for it now, the dirty louse. I’ll take the gin over myself; it’ll be a good excuse for me to go there. I don’t want to miss none of it.”