“You bumps into him yesterday, no? Scatter appels everywhere—on de sidewalk, in de gutter. Kids pick up an' run away. Others all spoil. So you pays."
Gillis appealed to Uggam. “How 'bout it, Mouse?”
“He's a damn liar. Tony picked up most of 'em; I seen him. Lemme look at that bill— Tony never wrote this thing. This baby's jess playin' you for a sucker.”
"Ain' had no apples, ain' payin' fo' none,” announced King Solomon, thus prompted. “Didn't have to come to Harlem to git cheated. Plenty o' dat right wha' I come fum.”
But the West Indian warmly insisted. “You cahn't do daht, mon. Whaht you t'ink, 'ey? Dis mon loose 'is appels an' 'is money too?”
“What diff'ence it make to you, nigger?”
“Who you call nigger, mon? Ah hahve you understahn'—"
"Oh, well, white folks, den. What all you got t' do wid dis hyeh, anyhow?"
“Mr. Gabrielli send me to collect bill!”
"How I know dat?”
“Do Ah not bring bill? You t’ink Ah steal t'ree dollar, 'ey?”
“Three dollars an' sebenty-fi' cent,” corrected Gillis. “ 'Nuther thing: wha' you ever see me befo'? How you know dis is me?"
"Ah see you, sure. Ah help Mr. Gabrielli in de store. When you knocks down de baskette appels, Ah see. Ah follow you. Ah know you comes in dis house.”
"Oh, you does? An' how come you know my name an' flat an' room so good? How come dat?”
"Ah fin' out. Sometime Ah brings up here vegetables from de store."
"Humph! Mus' be workin' on shares."
“You pays, 'ey? You pays me or de policemon?”
"Wait a minute,” broke in Uggam, who had been thoughtfully contemplating the bill. “Now listen, big shorty. You haul hips on back to Tony. We got your menu all right”—he waved the bill—“but we don't eat your kind o'cookin', see?”
The West Indian flared. “Whaht it is to you, 'ey? You
