Spade turned to the gingerskinned negro who worked beside him. “You fum de Souf?” he mouthed at him. Ginger nodded. “I been here a month now. They fotched me here the first day. Got any money?” “Nuthin’ but fifty cents.” “You better give it to him,” said Ginger, stealing A glance at the foreman. “He’ll treat you bad if you don’t. “He’s a cranky man.” Spade’s heart sank into his boots. “Don’t we uns get paid? We ain’t none of us slaves no more, The President said so. Why we wuhkin’ like dis?” Ginger snickered. “Sho’ we uns gets paid,” he said, “But we got to buy our stuff at de company sto’ And he sells his old shovels a dozen times what dey’s wuth. I only been here a month but I owes twelve dollars. Dey ain’t no way to pay it except by wuhk, And de more you wuhk de more you owe at the sto.’ I kain’t figure it out exactly but it’s dat way.”