“He up,” he said, “Miss Cahline say put hit on de table.” He came to the stove and spread his hands palm down above the firebox. “He up, too,” He said, “Gwine hit wid bofe feet dis mawnin.”
“Whut’s de matter now?” Dilsey said. “Git away fum dar. How kin I do anything wid you standin over de stove?”
“I cold,” Luster said.
“You ought to thought about dat whiles you wus down dar in dat cellar,” Dilsey said. “Whut de matter wid Jason?”
“Sayin me en Benjy broke dat winder in his room.”
“Is dey one broke?” Dilsey said.
“Dat’s whut he sayin,” Luster said. “Say I broke hit.”
“How could you, when he keep hit locked all day en night?”
“Say I broke hit chunkin rocks at hit,” Luster said.
“En did you?”
“Nome,” Luster said.
“Dont lie to me, boy,” Dilsey said.
“I never done hit,” Luster said. “Ask Benjy ef I did. I aint stud’in dat winder.”
“Who could a broke hit, den?” Dilsey said. “He jes tryin hisself, to wake Quentin up,” she said, taking the pan of biscuits out of the stove.
“Reckin so,” Luster said. “Dese is funny folks. Glad I aint none of em.”