“Can’t you see he ain’t here?” replied his grandmother, busily turning slices of egg-plant with great care in the skillet. “Gone—that’s where he is—a lazy nigger. Told me to tell Annjee he say goodbye, ’cause his travellin’ blues done come on . . . ! Huh! Jimboy’s yo’ pappy, chile, but he sho ain’t worth his salt! . . . an’ I’s right glad he’s took his clothes an’ left here, maself.”
