On the evening following the day upon which Bess had taken her turn for the better, Maria was alone in her shop. The supper hour was over, and her patrons had departed. She was busy at her stove, and did not turn immediately when someone entered. When she finally looked over her shoulder, her customer had buried his face in his hands, and she failed to recognize him. Of one fact there could be little doubt: the man was drunk, for the close, little room was already heavy with the exhalations of vile corn whiskey.
She crossed the room, and touched the man on the shoulder. He lowered his hands and attempted to focus his eyes on her face.
"Oh, it's you, Mingo?" she said, and even then she did not grasp the significance of his presence in the city at that time.
"Gimme some supper," he growled; and, with an uncertain movement, drew some change from his pocket and spilled it in a small pile on the table.
Maria looked at the money. There was about half a dollar in all, but there were only two nickels, and the remainder was in pennies. It looked suspiciously like the currency in which Porgy paid his debts. Then, as she stood looking down at the little heap
