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 de white folks' wits. De white folks, dey'll boss
de niggers; and de niggers, dey'll be niggers still. Come on now, honey
child, an' bring de bread erlong wid you."