Read it through once

That night they had a big supper, and all them men and women was there, and I stood behind the king and the duke’s chairs and waited on them, and the niggers waited on the rest. Mary Jane she set at the head of the table, with Susan alongside of her, and said how bad the biscuits was, and how mean the preserves was, and how ornery and tough the fried chickens was—and all that kind of rot, the way women always do for to force out compliments; and the people all knowed everything was tiptop, and said so—said “How _do_ you get biscuits to brown so nice?” and “Where, for the land’s sake, _did_ you get these amaz’n pickles?” and all that kind of humbug talky-talk, just the way people always does at a supper, you know.