on this occasion, he did not stop running until he stood gasping for
breath on Colonel Tom Gaitskill’s lawn.
Tick heard voices coming from the porch, and he knew better than to
rush precipitately into the presence of guests. He began to listen, and
after a while he broke into a grin.
“Dem white men is feelin’ good. Dey’s jes’ explodin’ jokes to each
yuther. I’s gwine bust in an’ explode my tale of trouble.”
He walked closer to the porch and stood where the pale moonlight fell
upon him.
“Is dat Marse Tom Gaitskill’s voice I hears?” he asked in a timid tone.
“Yes. What is it?”
“Marse Tom, I’s in powerful deep trouble,” Tick sighed as he came up to
the porch steps. “Yes, suh, trouble is done slopped my trough good.”
“Well--tell us about it,” Gaitskill said impatiently. “Spill it!”
“You tole me I had to git married, Marse Tom,” Tick began. “I fanciated
two nigger womens pretty good, so I writ a letter to bofe of ’em an’
axed ’em to marry me. Bofe of ’em tuck me up on dat.”
“That ought to make you feel happy,” Gaitskill chuckled.
“Naw, suh, it worries me in my mind. You see, bofe dem niggers met me
under a sycamo’ tree, an’ one of ’em bragged her brags dat she toted a
pistol reg’lar, an’ dey backed me up ag’in’ de chu’ch to pussuade me,
an’--an’ a ha’nt come outen de graveyard----”
Tick stopped and chuckled.
“That ha’nt shore done me a good favor. I’d ’a’ been a ha’nt myse’f by
now ef he hadn’t showed up so handy.”
“What did you do?” Gaitskill laughed.
“I lef’ dem two nigger womens wid him,” Tick snickered. “Dat ha’nt
never could ’a’ kep’ up wid me--he didn’t had no use fer me nohow--an’
I didn’t need him--so I let de lady folks hab him all to deirse’ves.”
“You’ve heard this negro’s testimony, judge. What’s your verdict?”
Gaitskill asked smilingly of Judge Henry Lanark, who sat beside him on
the porch.
“Thank the Lord, I’m no lunacy jury,” Lanark laughed. Then he asked:
“Was one of those women named Limit, Tick?”
“Yes, suh.”
“I have a little corroborating testimony to offer,” Judge Lanark
remarked to Gaitskill. “I got a letter in my post-office box to-day
addressed to Limit Lark, my cook. I presume Tick picked her for
matrimonial honors.”
“Yes, suh, dat’s her,” Tick chuckled.
“What do you want me to do about it, Tick?” Gaitskill asked.
“I dunno, Marse Tom. I jes’ come to git a view from you ’bout dat.”
“What do you think those two women will do to you?” Gaitskill queried.
“Kill me dead,” Tick answered simply.
“In that case, I presume you do not care to consider a matrimonial
alliance with either,” Gaitskill grinned.
“Naw, suh, nothin’ like dat.”
“What do you think those two women will do to each other when they
compare the contents of those two letters?” Gaitskill asked next.
“Gawd knows,” Tick sighed.
“It would be wise to recover those letters, if possible,” Judge Lanark
suggested.
“I kin git ’em all right,” Tick said. “Bofe letters is layin’ on de
groun’ close to de Shoofly chu’ch whar dey dropped ’em down when dey
seed de ha’nt.”
“Go get them at once!” Lanark commanded.
“I’ll git ’em in de mawnin’, jedge,” Tick replied. “Nobody ain’t gwine
pick ’em up to-night--not no niggers--dey ain’t!”
“Isn’t there some other woman you could fall in love with?” Gaitskill
wanted to know.
“I ’speck so, boss.”
“I advise you to choose a third party and marry her,” Gaitskill said.
“I’s kinder squeamish ’bout dat, kunnel,” Tick said earnestly. “You
see, dis am de fustest time I is ever messed wid mattermony, an’ I
ain’t real shore of my foot-holt.”
“You have messed it pretty well, so far,” Gaitskill laughed. “Of
course, if you don’t want to marry, I think I can find some other man
to put on my plantation as tenant----”
“Naw, suh, kunnel,” Tick interrupted with emphasis. “I’s gwine git dat
job ef I’s got to mess up wid all de mattermony ladies in dis town. I
needs dat job.”
“Go as far as you like,” Gaitskill smiled. “You can’t make me mad. If
you get into trouble I’ll help you all I can, and I am sure the judge
will give you the benefit of his legal knowledge and experience.”
“Will you-alls really he’p me, Marse Tom?” Tick asked eagerly.
Gaitskill did not know that his jesting words were being taken
seriously. So his answer to Tick’s eager question was unfortunate. It
had the effect of turning Tick loose on the community, feeling that he
could do anything with impunity because the colonel and the judge were
with him.
“Certainly,” Gaitskill said. “We’ll be glad to help you.”
“Could you begin he’pin’ by loantin’ me five dollars?” Tick asked
diffidently.
“Give it to him!” Lanark exploded. “War munitions--campaign expenses!”
Tick turned away with the money in his pocket and exultation in his
heart. With two great men to back his enterprises, he was sure he could
accomplish great things. Whatever the risks, he would be perfectly
safe. Even if he got into jail, the judge would help him out again.
“I’ll mess wid mattermony, all right!” he chuckled. “It’s de kunnel’s
awders!”
V
SKEETER HELPS SOME MORE
Early the next morning Tick Hush appeared at the Hen-Scratch saloon and
found Skeeter Butts nursing a grouch and sundry bruises, all of which
he had received in his wild flight through the graveyard.
“Whut you showin’ up here fer?” Skeeter snarled.
“Troubles,” Tick told him.
“I’m got ’em of my own,” Skeeter snapped. “Don’t pesticate me.”
“You’s de only good-advicin’ nigger in Tickfall, Skeeter,” Tick said
earnestly. “Ef a feller cain’t ax you ’terrogations, he mought as well
go out an’ suicide hisse’f!”
“Ain’t it de trufe!” Skeeter grinned, greatly mollified by this praise.
“Whut ails you now?”
“I had a leetle talk wid Limit an’ Vakey las’ night, an’ I done decided
to cut ’em bofe out. Dey argufies pretty sharp yistiddy evenin’. One of
’em applied at me wid a big gun--I don’t favor dat kind of nigger.”
“Ef you is done got dat wise, you don’t need no more advices,” Skeeter
grinned. “Eve’y nigger woman argufies wid guns an’ razors an’ skillets,
an’ truck like dat. Of co’se, ef you cuts all dat out, dat means you
ain’t gwine hitch double wid nobody.”
“But I got to marry!” Tick exclaimed. “Marse Tom specify----”
“All right!” Skeeter interrupted tartly. “Who am de choosen woman now?”
“Well, suh, I cogitate dat Button Hook is de right kind of meekified
woman fer me to take on,” Tick declared. “Button is kinder sweet an’
soft-spoke.”
“I fell in love wid a woman like dat wunst,” Skeeter grinned. “Us wus
about to git married. I axed her whut she done fer a livin’ so she
could suppote me like I wus raised--an’ she said she an’ her pap kotch
snakes in de swamp an’ sold ’em to show folks in a circus. De nex’ time
I seed her she had a lapful of rattlesnakes--dat wus de last time I
looked at her, too!”
“My Lawd!” Tick murmured.
“You cain’t tell nothin’ ’bout pickin’ ’em,” Skeeter continued. “Dey’s2
wuss’n race-hosses. You bet yo’ money an’ you lose it on a hoss; you
bet yo’ money an’ you lose it on a woman; an’ on top of dat you is
wished yo’se’f a live job, losin’ money all de time.”
“Now, ’bout dis Button Hook--” Tick began.
“Suttinly,” Skeeter Butts interrupted. “She’ll throw de hook inter you
all right. You go nibblin’ aroun’ dat hook an’ you’s already a sucker
on a string--powerful soon you’ll be crackin’ an’ fryin’ in a skillet.
Suttinly--go ahead! Whut wus you gwine to say?”
“I wus fixin’ to remark dat she comes in pretty handy right now. Dat’s
my onlies’ chance. Marse Tom specify fer me to seleck a third party. De
kunnel an’ Judge Lanark gib me a few advices las’ night, an’ bofe dem
white mens said dey would stan’ by me.”
Skeeter sat up with a sudden and great interest.
“Why’n’t you tell me dat Kunnel Gaitskill an’ Jedge Lanark wus backin’
you in dis race? Dat makes it plum diffunt. I jines in wid de white
folks, too.”
“Dat happifies me consid’able, Skeeter,” Tick exclaimed with a wide
grin. “Whut is our fust move-up?”
“We mought write a letter to Button----”
“Naw!” Tick exploded. “Jedge Lanark say dat govermint wus agin love
letters--dey gits you in trouble wid de cotehouse. Dem two niggers
drapped dem letters on de groun’ las’ night, an’ I foun’ ’em close to
de Shoofly chu’ch dis mawnin’. I got ’em in de inside coat-pocket right
now, next to my heart.”
“Gib ’em to me--” Skeeter said eagerly.
“Naw, suh. I’ll tote ’em in my own coat-pocket,” Tick snarled. “I let
you keep one yistiddy an’ it got away from you! Go on wid dem Button
advices!”
“You mought send Button a box of candy, den wait a day or two an’ go
out dar an’ talk sweet----”
“’Twon’t do, Skeeter. Candy costs money; excusin’ dat, I got to hurry
along wid dis mattermony--I needs somepin hasty.”
“Run in dar some night an’ kidnap her up!” Skeeter suggested.
“Say, Skeeter,” Tick asked with a wide grin, “did you ever hear a
skeart nigger woman holler?”
“Yes, indeedy,” the little barkeeper snickered. “I heerd two las’
night. Steamboat whistles am jes’ little wheezes when a nigger woman
begins to squall.”
“No nigger-stealin’ fer me,” Tick announced with finality.
Skeeter lighted a cigarette and began to ponder.
Give Skeeter Butts the number two, and his active brain could always
make four or forty-four by the simple process of multiplying. From the
little Tick Hush had said, Skeeter multiplied and got this result:
Gaitskill and Lanark had selected Button Hook as a suitable wife for
Tick Hush; the white folks would be greatly disappointed if Tick did
not marry her; any man who helped Tick get married to the woman of
their choice would be in good favor with those two influential white
men.
Reasoning thus, Skeeter determined to invent a plan which would insure
a hasty marriage between Tick and Button, and he resolved at the same
time to be the best man at their wedding. Most people, facing this
situation, would have told Tick to go to Button Hook and ask her to
marry him, pressing his suit with ardor, eloquence, and affection until
the lady consented. But Skeeter never could think of the obvious thing.
There was a long silence in the Hen-Scratch saloon, interrupted only by
the scratching of matches and the jiggering of feet.
At length Skeeter stood up with a loud laugh.
“Gee,” he howled. “My brains shore is actin’ like gourd-seeds to-day--I
wonder how I never thunk of dat at fust!”
“Don’t bust no jokes on me, Skeeter,” Tick warned him. “Dis here is
solemn bizzness, an’ de white folks don’t take no nigger foolishness.”
“Listen, Tick!” Skeeter commanded. “Whut you needs is a few lessons in
coteship an’ marriage.”
“Dat’s a fack,” Tick agreed. “I needs a shawt cut-off.”
“Dar’s a actor-woman in dis town named Dazzle Zenor. She plays love
parts in shows. I acted wid her once--we wus stunt-dancers fer de
Nigger Uplift dat time I got shotted accidental.”
“Dat don’t he’p me none----”
“Aw, shut up!” Skeeter snapped. “You listen to me talk! Fools like you
gimme a pain. Now, dis here Dazzle gal, she knows all about how to make
love an’ how to cote a gal an’ how to ax to git married because she
studies dat fer de stage.”
“I sees de light,” Tick grinned.
“Now, de dog’s tail wags dis way,” Skeeter said, warming up to his
great idea. “You wants to go to Dazzle Zenor an’ ax her to gib you a
few cheap lessons on how to make love an’ git married quick.”
“Dat’s whut I needs!” Tick agreed hesitatingly.
“Is you got any money on yer?” Skeeter demanded.
“De kunnel gib me five dollars las’ night,” Tick replied reluctantly.
“Dat’s a plenty,” Skeeter told him. “Dazzle will gib you five dollars’
wuth of lessons, an’ den you kin git married jes’ like drappin’ a hat.”
“Whar do Dazzle stay at?”
“She stays at Ginny Babe Chew’s house.”
“Would you mind gwine wid me, Skeeter?” Tick inquired. “I needs
somebody to he’p me make de fust arrangements.”
“I never had no yuther idear!” Skeeter howled. “Ain’t dis here my plan?
I don’t let no rooster like you crow up my big idears--I sees ’em
through.”
He reached for his hat, and Tick stood up to go with him. Then he
whooped:
“Oh, Little Bit! You take keer dis saloom till I gits back!”
VI
LOVE LESSONS
“You do de talkin’ fer me, Skeeter,” Tick begged as they entered Ginny
Babe Chew’s yard. “I ain’t never got into no mess like dis befo’, an’ I
cain’t tongue it out as free as you kin.”
“Dar she am,” Skeeter exclaimed, as he pointed to a young colored woman
sitting on a bench under a pecan tree at the side of the house. “Come
on!”
Dazzle Zenor was certainly the sort of woman a colored man would
naturally select to teach him the art of love. She was slim and
graceful, neat as a new pin and beautifully dressed; she had fine
Moorish features, and smiled with beautiful teeth and did flattering
things with her eyes, for Dazzle was a real actress.
“Dis here cullud gen’leman is got de love-bug, Dazzle,” Skeeter
explained. “He wants to cote a gal so dat he kin marry her real prompt,
an’ he don’t know how it is did. I tole him you wus a female actor an’
you could teach him how to love wid one lesson.”
Then Skeeter executed an elaborate wink.
“How much kin you pay?” Dazzle asked, looking at Tick.
“How much do it cost?” Tick asked cautiously.
“How many money is you got?” Dazzle inquired.
Tick handed her a five-dollar bill.
“Dat’s a plenty,” Dazzle laughed as she folded the bill and slipped it
into the palm of her kid glove. Then she looked Tick over as if he were
a horse she was thinking of buying. After a while she asked:
“Whut does you know about makin’ love to a woman, Tick?”
“Nothin’,” Tick answered modestly.
“Ain’t you never kissed no womens?” Dazzle asked incredulously.
“Yes’m.”
“Well, what happened?”
“Dey batted me over de head wid de fust thing whut come handy. De las’
one broke a puffeckly good settin’-chair on my noodle.”
“Ain’t you never hugged no womens?” Dazzle asked.
“I can’t perzackly call it huggin’,” Tick explained. “Quick as I grab
’em, dey squall an’ fight an’ ack like dey wus ag’in it.”
Dazzle turned to Skeeter with an amazed question:
“Did you ever see de beat?”
Skeeter was evidently stricken dumb before such complete inexperience
and such colossal ignorance.
Tick wadded his hat into a tight ball and waited while Dazzle thought
out a course of instruction.
“All right, Ticky,” she said, at last. “I’ll set here on dis bench an’
you come a-courtin’ me. Do de very best you knows how, an’ Skeeter kin
stan’ off on one side an’ suggest improvements on de lesson.”
Dazzle sat down and waited.
Tick fumbled with his hat, and breathed like a choking horse.
Skeeter stood like a motion-picture director looking at the actors in
this drama of love.
“Git busy!” Skeeter howled.
“Whu--whut muss I do fust?” Tick growled.
“Kiss her--kiss her!” Skeeter ordered.
Tick sat down beside Dazzle, and started to kiss her. Then he backed
away, and took up his position at the far end of the bench, looking at
her with extreme embarrassment.
“Aw, shuckins!” Skeeter howled. “You kissed at dat purdy gal like a
sick sheep lickin’ salt! Don’t be skeart you’ll git too much--she ain’t
p’ison--git yo’ five dollar’s wuth!”
Tick Hush “sulled.”
“I ain’t gwine take no mo’ lesson,” he declared. “You-all is jes’
prankin’ wid me. I wants my five dollars back.”
“Nothin’ doin’, Ticky,” Dazzle laughed. “I ain’t gwine git in de habit
of givin’ money back--it’s too expensive. Bless Gawd, I ain’t never gib
none back yit. Come on wid yo’ lessons!”
“I’s jes’ losin’ time an’ money monkeyin’ wid you-alls,” Tick growled.
“You niggers is flimflamuxed me.”
“Naw!” Skeeter howled. “You’ll git yo’ money’s wuth. Lemme take yo’
place an’ show you how it is did!”
“You needn’t apply, Skeeter,” Dazzle grinned. “I’s givin’ dese here
lessons. I’ll let Tick set on de bench an’ I’ll show him how it oughter
be did. Set down, Tick!”
Tick sat down on the bench with about as much eagerness as a condemned
man takes his seat in the electric chair. And he waited for what was to
happen with about the same feeling that a man awaits the electric shock.
“Here’s de way to do de kissin’ ack,” Dazzle exclaimed in her best
stage voice.
She swept forward in her best stage manner and threw her eager arms
around--empty air.
Tick bolted.
Skeeter Butts grabbed a tree, laid his head back between his shoulder
blades, opened his mouth to its fullest extent, and laughed like a fool.
Tick got a Cherokee rosebush between himself and the histrionic beauty
and took a lesson in watchful waiting.
“Ketch him, Dazzle,” Skeeter screamed. “Ketch him--O my Lawd!”
His voice trailed off in demoniacal whoops of laughter like a
wind-broken calliope, and Dazzle sat down with an astonishment which
left her perfectly helpless.
In all her earthly career, she had never before found a man who bolted
when she wanted to kiss him!
With a decisive gesture, she removed the five-dollar bill from the palm
of her glove, and stood up, facing Tick Hush.
“Come here, Tick, an’ git dis money!” she commanded.
“No’m,” Tick chattered. “I wouldn’t come even fer five dollars!”
“Come on! I won’t kiss you--I jes’ want to han’ dis change
back--honest!” Dazzle urged.
“Hang it on de rose bush an’ git back about fawty feet!” Tick
commanded. “I ain’t trustin’ nobody no more!”
Dazzle solemnly laid the bill upon a branch of the rose, piercing it
with a thorn so that it would not fall to the ground.
“Tick,” she said in a serious tone, “my advices to you is dis: You buy
a real nice present fer dat gal of your’n wid dis money. Gib it to her
an’ tell her you wants to marry her, den ax her paw to throw you down
an hawg-tie you ontil she kin git her fust engagement kiss. Good-by!”
Dazzle Zenor turned away from the two men, went straight to her room,
and sat down before a mirror. For half an hour, she studied every
feature of her face with critical inspection. But her silent inquiry
was in vain. To the end of her life, she wondered why Tick had bolted
when she had tried to kiss him!
As for Tick, he edged around the rosebush until he got within reaching
distance of that five-dollar bill. He grabbed it and ran down the
street as if he were chased by a dozen pretty women desirous of
presenting him with an affectionate osculation.
Skeeter’s maniacal laughter subsided to a hysterical giggle, as he
watched Tick’s precipitous flight.
“Dar now!” he snickered. “De kisser’s gone an’ pulled his freight to
kiss her on some later date!”
Then Skeeter sat down on the bench where Tick had received his first
and last lesson in the art of love, and smoked one cigarette after
another, sighing frequently and thinking hard. He decided that Tick had
lost the opportunity of a lifetime to be kissed by the prettiest woman
in the world, one who knew how to do it. Skeeter wished that he had had
Tick’s chance.
“Shuckins!” he said in deep disgust. “A nigger like Tick don’t never
know whut’s good fer him!”
VII
BUTTON HOOK
Deeply embarrassed by his experience, and sorely perplexed over his
difficulties, Tick Hush wandered down toward that portion of the town
occupied by the whites, and stopped short in his meditations before
a drug-store which carried a stock of cheap jewelry. He held his
retrieved five-dollar bill in his sweating palm and looked into the
dusty show-window.
“Dat nigger actor gimme one good tip,” he murmured. “I’ll buy my gal a
real nice present, and take it to her when I git ready to express my
bizzness.”
He entered the drug-store timidly and leaned against a show-case.
“What you want, colored man?” the clerk asked.
“I wants a little gold fitten fer a cullud lady to wear on her,” Tick
grinned diffidently.
“Everything in this show-case comes up to your specifications in one
respect,” the clerk said flippantly. “There’s mighty little gold about
the stuff. What do you fancy?”
“Dunno, suh. I wants a view from you on dat.”
“I’ve got it,” the clerk said, as he lifted out a piece of jewelry
and held it up for inspection. “A wrist watch--just the thing--all the
women wear them and every woman is crazy about them.”
“How much do dat’n cost?” Tick inquired.
“Four-ninety-eight--let you have it for five dollars, cash!” the clerk
responded.
“Thank ’e, suh. Dat’s about de size of my little dab of money. Please
wrop it up in a real nice box.”
The clerk polished the piece of jewelry, wrapped it neatly, and Tick
started for the home of Button Hook with the package in his hip pocket.
Button lived on the edge of the negro settlement known as Hell’s
Half-Acre, and Tick had no trouble learning whether or not she was at
home, for he heard her voice, as high and as strident as the call of
the katydid, singing a song which assured him:
* * * * *
“O love’s my meat, an’ love’s my drink, an’ love’s my daily fare--an’
Love an’ me walks han’ in han’ when I has a han’ to spare!”
* * * * *
Tick’s method of presenting her with the wristwatch was unique. He
walked into the yard and knocked loudly upon the front door. Then he
ran down to the street, laid his package in a conspicuous place on top
of the gatepost, and hid behind a convenient stump upon the other side
of the road to watch proceedings.
The girl came to the door and looked out. She spied the package and ran
down after it. She unwrapped it, gave a squeal of delight, and ran back
into the house.
“Dat made a fine hit!” Tick exclaimed, cutting a caper behind the stump.
He waited about ten minutes, then announced to himself:
“I reckin it’s ’bout time I wus gwine in an’ tellin’ her who sont her
dat gift.”
He entered the yard and knocked loudly upon the door. Button Hook
responded and Tick entered the house.
“Did you git a leetle somepin a while ago, Button?” he began.
“Naw,” the girl responded.
“Didn’t nobody leave you nothin’ on dat gatepost out dar?” Tick asked
in a surprised tone.
“Naw!” the girl answered.
She sat before him quietly, a small, tan-colored woman, with small
eyes, small hands, and features as dull and expressionless as the face
of a rag doll.
“My gosh,” Tick howled. “Whut become of dat leetle gold wrist-watch I
lef’ on dat gatepost?”
“Did you leave one out dar?” Button asked innocently.
“Suttinly!” Tick said. “An’ you got it, too. I know, because I peeped
at you from behime a stump.”
“Dat’s right!” Button snickered.
“Whar is it?” Tick demanded.
“It didn’t hab no name on it an’ maw claimed it wus her’n,” she told
him.
“Huh,” Tick grunted in despair. “Dat wus fer you--it was my weddin’
present to you.”
“Yo’--which?” the girl inquired in a startled tone.
“Yes’m,” Tick plunged on. “You an’ me is gwine git married. It’s Marse
Tom Gaitskill’s awders--de Kunnel, an’ Jedge Henry Lanark, an’ Skeeter
Butts--dey all agrees dat it’s shore got to be.”
The girl took a breath of astonishment which threatened to consume all
the air in the room.
“Marse Tom says we kin live on de pest-house plantation. Dem deaders
buried aroun’ dar won’t gib us no ketchin’ disease. We got a good cabin
an’ plenty to eat, an’ I’ll make plenty dollars.”
Then while Button Hook still gasped for air, Tick stood up. He assumed
Dazzle Zenor’s best stage manner, and swept down upon Button Hook to
give her an imitation of Dazzle Zenor’s best stage kiss.
And Button did just what Tick had done--she bolted.
She ran out of the room and left Tick to embrace the empty air.
“Huh!” Tick grunted. “Dazzle should had gib me anodder lesson so I
would know whut to do now.”
The windows in the room were closed tight, and Tick felt extremely
warm. He tramped the floor for a few minutes, then took off his coat
and hung it across the back of a chair.
“I reckin I better make myse’f at home an’ wait till Buttons gits
back,” he soliloquized. “I don’t know whut else to do. Mebbe she’ll
come back some time to-day.”
In the rear of the house, Button’s father was lying asleep on a pallet
on the porch. He was an old man with long woolly hair, and long
cork-screw whiskers; his feet were bare, and his body was clothed
with a pair of ragged pantaloons and a soiled, patched, yellowish
undershirt.
“Wake up, pap,” Button panted when she ran out of the room where Tick
had tried to kiss her. “I got somepin to tell you.”
“Whut’s dat?” her parent inquired, rubbing his hands over his face and
head and rumpling his hair and whiskers into a frightful disorder.
“Whut you want?”
“A nigger man named Tick Hush is asettin’ in de front room an’ he wants
to borrer yo’ shotgun,” Button told him.
“Shore!” old Hook exclaimed. “I’ll loant Ticky de gun!”