“I’d say she kinda liked it,” Paul answered, then lit another cigarette.
“Do you know they have corn liquor in the kitchen? They serve it from a coffee pot.” Aaron seemed proud of his discovery.
“Yes,” said Alva, “and they got hoppin’-john out there too.”
“What the hell is hoppin’-john?”
“Ray, I'm ashamed of you. Here you are passing for colored and don’t know what hoppin’-john is!”
“Tell him, Cora, I don’t know either.”
“Another one of these foreigners.” Cora looked at Truman disdainfully. “Hoppin’-john is black-eyed peas and rice. Didn’t they ever have any out in Salt Lake City?”
“Have they any chitterlings?” Alta asked eagerly.
“No, Alta,” Alva replied, dryly. “This isn’t Kansas. They have got pig’s feet though.”
“Lead me to ’em,” Aaron and Alta shouted in unison, and led the way to the kitchen. Emma Lou clung to Alva’s arm and tried to remain behind. “Alva, I’'m afraid.”
“Afraid of what? Come on, snap out of it! You need another drink.” He pulled her up from the settee and led her through the crowded room down the long narrow dark hallway to the more crowded kitchen.
