"Hungry as hell."
"Hear that, Bugs?"
"I hear most of what goes on."
"That ain't what I asked you."
"Yes. I heard what the gentleman said."
Into a skillet he was laying slices of ham. As the skillet grew hot the grease sputtered and Bugs, crouching on long nigger legs over the fire, turned the ham and broke eggs into the skillet, tipping it from side to side to baste the eggs with the hot fat.
"Will you cut some bread out of that bag, Mister Adams?" Bugs turned from the fire.
"Sure."
Nick reached in the bag and brought out a loaf of bread. He cut six slices. Ad watched him and leaned forward.
"Let me take your knife, Nick," he said.
"No, you don't," the negro said. "Hang onto your knife, Mister Adams."
The prizefighter sat back.
"Will you bring me the bread, Mister Adams?" Bugs asked. Nick brought it over.
"Do you like to dip your bread in the ham fat?" the negro asked.
"You bet!"
"Perhaps we'd better wait until later. It's better at the finish of the meal. Here."
The negro picked up a slice of ham and laid
