ve under de sound of my voice. (She
crosses to right.)

MRS. THOMAS: That's right, Sister Blunt. I glory in yo' spunk. Lord, I
better go put on my supper.

(As MRS. BLUNT exits, right, REV. CHILDERS enters left with DAVE and
DEACON LINDSAY and SISTER LEWIS. Very hostile glances from SISTERS
THOMAS and TAYLOR toward the others.)

CHILDERS: Good evenin', folks.

(SISTERS THOMAS and TAYLOR just grunt. MRS. THOMAS moves a step or two
towards exit. Flirts her skirts and exits.)

LINDSAY: (Angrily) Whut's de matter, y'all? Cat got yo' tongue?

MRS. TAYLOR: More matter than you kin scatter all over Cincinnatti.

LINDSAY: Go 'head on, Lucy Taylor. Go 'head on. You know a very little
of yo' sugar sweetens my coffee. Go 'head on. Everytime you lift yo'
arm you smell like a nest of yellow hammers.

MRS. TAYLOR: Go 'head on yo'self. Yo' head look like it done wore out
three bodies. Talkin' 'bout _me_ smellin'--you smell lak a nest of
grand daddies yo'self.

LINDSAY: Aw rock on down de road, 'oman. Ah, don't wantuh change words
wid yuh. Youse too ugly.

MRS. TAYLOR: You ain't nobody's pretty baby, yo'self. You so ugly I
betcha yo' wife have to spread uh sheet over yo' head tuh let sleep
slip up on yuh.

LINDSAY: (Threatening) You better git way from me while you able. I
done tole you I don't wanter break a breath wid you. It's uh whole
heap better tuh walk off on yo' own legs than it is to be toted off.
I'm tired of yo' achin' round here. You fool wid me now an' I'll knock
you into doll rags, Tony or no Tony.

MRS. TAYLOR: (Jumping up in his face) Hit me? Hit me! I dare you tuh
hit me. If you take dat dare, you'll steal uh hawg an' eat his hair.

LINDSAY: Lemme gwan down to dat church befo' you make me stomp you.
(He exits, right.)

MRS. TAYLOR: You mean you'll _git_ stomped. Ah'm goin' to de trial,
too. De nex trial gointer be _me_ for kickin' some uh you Baptist
niggers around.

(A great noise is heard off stage left. The angry and jeering voices
of children. MRS. TAYLOR looks off left and takes a step or two
towards left exit as the noise comes nearer.)

VOICE OF ONE CHILD: Tell her! Tell her! Turn her up and smell her. Yo'
mama ain't got nothin' to do wid me.

MRS. TAYLOR: (Hollering off left) You lil Baptis' haitians leave them
chillun alone. If you don't, you better!

(Enter about ten children struggling and wrestling in a bunch. MRS.
TAYLOR looks about on the ground for a stick to strike the children