"Madam," said the negro principal of a public school to an old negro woman who was washing, "I wish your boy to attend my school." "Whose boy?" asked the old woman as she straightened up and wiped the suds from her arms. "Your boy, madam." "Well, ef he's my boy, I reckon I'll look atter him." She placed one hand on the rim of the tub and resumed washing with the other. Every few seconds she would change her position, allowing each hand a rest period. She would also change the pitch of a negro melody she was singing, accordingly. "'Fesser," said she, "is you still waitin'?"