Their-Eyes-Were-Watching-God-rmrju9

Their Eyes Were Watching God 4/hP 47store. They had murmured hotly about slavery being over, butevery man filled his assignment.There was something about Joe Starks that cowed the town.It was not because of physical fear. He was no fist fighter. Hisbulk was not even imposing as men go. Neither was it because hewas more literate than the rest. Something else made men giveway before him. He had a bow-down command in his face, andevery step he took made the thing more tangible.Take for instance that new house of his. It had two stories withporches, with bannisters and such things. The rest of the townlooked like servants' quarters surrounding the "big house." Anddifferent from everybody else in the town he put off moving inuntil it had been painted, in and out. And look at the way hepainted it—a gloaty, sparkly white. The kind of promenadingwhite that the houses of Bishop Whipple, W. B. Jackson and theVanderpool's wore. It made the village feel funny talking to him—just like he was anybody else. Then there was the matter of thespittoons. No sooner was he all set as the Mayor—post masterlandlord—storekeeper,than he bought a desk like Mr. Hill or Mr.Galloway over in Maitland with one of those swing-around chairsto it. What with him biting down on cigars and saving his breathon talk and swinging round in that chair, it weakened people. Andthen he spit in that gold-looking vase that anybody else wouldhave been glad to put on their front-room table. Said it was a spittoonjust like his used-to-be bossman used to have in his bank upthere in Atlanta. Didn't have to get up and go to the door everytime he had to spit. Didn't spit on his floor neither. Had thatgolded-up spitting pot right handy. But he went further than that.He bought a little lady-size spitting pot for Janie to spit in. Had itright in the parlor with little sprigs of flowers painted all around thesides. It took people by surprise because most of the womendipped snuff and of course had a spit-cup in the house. But how