Ziffle’s mind. He was convinced that Hooblitz was the crafty pilferer. So
he determined to put the matter to a test. Whereupon he took a dozen or
more sticks of wood and bored them full of gimlet holes; into which he
poured a small quantity of gunpowder, plugging them up afterward. Then he
placed the loaded cord sticks on the tops of the various woodpiles, and
sat down patiently to wait results.
The night set in with a driving rain, just as old Hooblitz lighted his
fire and filled the big iron pot with the ingredients for the unsanitary
brew he would peddle as sausage. Looking at his supply of wood, he saw
there was not enough to finish the boiling, and that he would have to pay
a secret visit to Mr. Ziffle’s woodpile to get a few sticks to last the
night. He was just about to go out, when the door flew open suddenly, and
Gussie lunged into the room, dripping wet and blowing like a porpoise.
Displeased with the untimely interruption, and not wanting Gussie to find
out the secret of his wood supply, knowing that he would speak of it in
the village and Mr. Ziffle would hear it eventually; old Hooblitz stood
looking at the unwelcome visitor, leering at his discomfort with a sort
of malicious delight. Gussie sat down dejectedly on the beer keg, beating
his wet cap against its side. The old man continued to laugh, wondering
at the same time how long he would have to wait before going about his
work. Getting up slowly, Gussie shook himself several times, like a wet
dog trying to dry himself.
“Gawd knows, Mr. Hooblitz,” he began to complain, “I ain’ see w’at you
got to laugh at. If I had knowed ’twas goin’ rain like dis, I sho would
’a stayed ’way from hyuh tonight.... You ain’ goin’ make no sausage, bad
weather like dis, is you?”
’Twasn’t raining on the inside; the old man told him curtly. He didn’t
have to stay, if he wanted to go back home; the old man went on. He got
along without help before; he could get along without it again. Little
bit of rain didn’t make him afraid to work for an honest living. The
house had a roof over it. And there was a good fire, in the bargain.
“Li’l bit o’ rain!” Gussie exclaimed; surprised at his disagreeable
manner of talking. “Man, you ain’ seen de water fallin’ out-do’as, if you
wan’ call dat a li’l bit o’ rain.... Look how I’m soaked clean thoo to de
skin, if you ain’ b’lieve w’at I’m tellin’ you.”
“Well, w’at you want me to do?” The old man asked indifferently, with a
flat harsh drawl.
“Gimme li’l somh’n to drink,” Gussie told him frankly. “Li’l somh’n to
warm me up befo’ I start ’way from hyuh. ’Cause I ain’ goin’ stay wid
you an’ do no work tonight.... I done already seen whah you too cross
an’ crabby for me to stay hyuh an’ play ’roun’ dis sausage pot. Wet as I
done got comin’ ’way down hyuh in de woods for nothin’.... An’ inny-way,
I got to go yonder to Carmelite raffle an’ see’f I can’ win’ one dem
quilts for Aun’ Fisky.... An’ got to go yonder to Tempe wake, too.... So
gimme a drink o’ somh’n-nother, Mr. Hooblitz, so I kin leave hyuh w’en it
slack-up rainin’ a li’l bit out-do’as.”
The old man took a flask from his pocket, and holding it out to Gussie,
said roughly:
“Here. Take a drink. An’ I hope it lands you in Hell before morning....
An’ hurry on back to your damn niggers; if that’s what you want to do. I
reckon I kin git along good enough by myself.”
Gussie looked at the flask; then contemplated the old man’s face for a
second before answering.
“But no, Mr. Hooblitz. You sho is cross tonight.... W’as de matter? You
begrudge me a li’l bit o’ licker to keep me from ketchin’ col’, wet as
I’m is? An’ come hyuh to help you, too?... Hyuh, take yo’ licker back,”
he went on, holding out the flask to the old man. “I ain’ got to drink
it, if da’s de way you wan’ talk. Frien’ly as me an’ you bin for so long.”
Old Hooblitz took the flask, and after helping himself to a long swig,
he handed it back to Gussie, saying:
“Don’t be so damn touchy about your niggers. Take your drink, an’ go on
back to ’um. You might miss the excitement if you stay here too long.”
Gussie put the flask to his mouth and took a long pull. He handed it back
and the old man put it in his pocket and sat down sullenly. Gussie shook
himself in his wet clothes, put on his cap, buttoned his coat well about
his neck, and started for the door. He looked out to see if the rain had
abated.
“’Tain drappin’ so hard like it ’twas,” he said, turning to the old man.
“But ’tain no use stay’n hyuh no longer. So Mr. Hooblitz, I’m goin’ tell
you good-night.”
The old man made an inarticulate grunt as Gussie left, calling to him as
the door closed:
“Damn you an’ your good-night! I don’t care if I never see you no more.”
Going over to the bunk, he lifted the straw mattress and brought out a
quart bottle of whiskey. He filled the empty flask he had in his pocket,
took a generous gulp, put the flask back, and looked out at the weather.
The rain was falling in torrents.
He would have to go out after the wood, as the fire was burning very
low. Going over to the array of clothing on the wall, he took an old
coat from the peg, threw it over his shoulders and started out in search
of the woodpile. After stumbling through the dark, he came back after a
while with four sticks of wood, his clothing thoroughly drenched.
“A good dram’ll warm up the inside, an’ I’ll be dry in no time,” he said
to reassure himself, lifting his flask and drinking heartily. Then he
raked the fire together and put on two sticks of wood, and went into his
room to lie down until the cooking required further attention.
The rain pelted on the tin roof of the shed and the ringing sound went
echoing through the room like a savage serenade. The malodorous fumes
of the boiling pot also went into the room, bringing him visions of
profitable sales and more comforting flasks for the lonely nights to
follow. The thought made him happy, so he took another long drink of
thankfulness; closing his eyes so as not to be shocked by the dismal
aspect of an empty bottle.
The rain rattled and the fire cracked, but nothing disturbed the pleasure
of his dreaming. The pot gurgled and the fire cracked louder than before,
but the rude noise failed to penetrate the chaotic lethargy that wrapped
his maudlin mind.
Suddenly the gunpowder exploded, sending the loaded cord sticks flying
in every direction; the seething pot soaring into the air against the
tin roof, rattling like a charge of light artillery; the heterogeneous
contents, scattered to the four winds like the spoils of battle.
But old Hooblitz heard no sound. No hint of the loud catastrophe. He
lay unmoved on his dingy bed, wrapped in a fringe of bibulous ecstasy;
half-hidden in the reek of steam that filled the room; oblivious to all
mundane things; until the coming of morning confronted him with the cruel
truth, and the accusing presence of Mr. Ziffle, asking if he was ready to
deliver the culprit to justice.
Gussie went stumbling along the muddy street through the rain, wondering
how soon he would come to a shed under which he could take momentary
shelter. The nearest one was Mr. Honnus’s bar-room. He could see the
pale gleam of lamplight reaching out across the street in the distance,
but the welcome reflection was still several blocks away. He hurried on,
quarreling with himself for going on such a wild goose chase, and cursing
old Hooblitz for sending him off in the rain with so little consideration.
When he reached Mr. Honnus’s shed, he sat down on the door-step,
deliberating whether to go in and have a drink to warm him up; or to
continue right on to Carmelite’s house and dry his clothes by her kitchen
stove before the raffle started.
He came to a decision without long delay. The bar-room door opened, and
Chicken-Volsin coming out, Gussie had to get up to let him pass. Seeing
Gussie’s wretched condition, Chicken-Volsin exclaimed:
“Great Gawd, man! Whah you come from? You look like somebody bin wollin’
in de ditch.... Come inside wid me an’ git somh’n to drink.”
“Sho Gawd will,” Gussie answered, well-pleased. “’Cause I feel like I’m
’bout to git de chills; wid all dis col’ rain searchin’ ’round my body.”
“Whah in de name o’ Gawd you bin, Gussie?” Volsin asked in amazement;
walking over to the bar and calling for whiskey.
Gussie gave him a brief account of his useless journey to old Hooblitz’
place; the unfriendly manner in which he had been treated; and his
determination to get to Carmelite’s raffle that night, rain or no rain.
Anybody that had a spare dime could go and take a chance. And he had his
mind set on winning one of Carmelite’s quilts for Aunt Fisky; so he would
go, if he had to swim there.
Chicken-Volsin tried to shame him about his appearance, but Gussie
assured him that he could sit by Carmelite’s stove and dry out before he
went in the front room “munks de people.”
“Some mens sho is foolish ’bout goin’ wid wimmins,” Volsin twitted.
“’Tain’ de wimmins takin’ me to Carmelite house,” Gussie explained. “It’s
dem quilts she rafflin’.... I ain’ give Aun’ Fisky nothin’ for so long,
I wan’ bring ’uh home somh’n nice to make up for it.... An’ two or three
dimes ain’ goin’ break nobody. So da’s w’at I’m goin’ for.”
Chicken-Volsin accepted the excuse without further comment, and offered
him another friendly drink. Gussie swallowed the whiskey with relish, and
seeming to have forgotten his discomfort, started to go.
Chicken-Volsin walked to the door with him and saw him go out in the
rain. He stood watching him running across the street, and laughed to
think what a fool Gussie was, exposing himself to such weather “for
nothin’ but one li’l ole raggedy quilt.”
On reaching Carmelite’s house, Gussie pushed the gate open hurriedly, and
ran up the steps, stamping his feet loudly on the gallery, trying to dry
them. Carmelite was in the kitchen, and hearing the strange noise, she
came out to see who had arrived. As she entered the room, the front door
flew open unceremoniously, and she saw Gussie lunge into the room; his
shoes covered with mud, and rillets of water running from his clothing
and dripping from his cap, all over her neat, well-scrubbed floor.
She looked at him, filled with consternation, struggling for appropriate
speech.
“Look! ole ugly w’ite nigger.... Is you done los’ yo’ good mind?” She
almost shouted. “W’at you _mean_, comin’ up in my house dis-away?...
Wettin’ up all my funnuchuh, an’ trackin’ dirt all ove’ my nice clean
flo’ wid yo’ big ole muddy shoes?... _Git_ out o’ hyuh an’ go whah you
b’long!... Nobody ain’ ax you to come hyuh, no-how.”
“Carmelite, don’ holluh at me like dat,” Gussie appealed to her quietly.
“Lemme git to de kitchen an’ set by de stove, an’ git dry befo’ people
start to come an’ ketch me lookin’ like dis.... Mizabul as you see me
hyuh, wid all dese wet clo’se on.”
“_Who?_” Carmelite shouted with indignation. “You ain’ think you goin’
stay hyuh tonight an’ go munks people, trampy-lookin’ an’ lavadated as
you is?... Who?... Gussie, you mus’ be a fool!... So you better make up
yo’ min’ to go ’way from hyuh right now; an’ no mo’ talkin’ ’bout it....
You hyeah w’at I say?”
Gussie looked at her dejectedly, wondering whether to go or stay. He
tried to reason with her, telling her that he only wanted to get dry
before going out again; that was all. She wouldn’ have the heart to turn
him out in the rain, after he came all the way from the woods to take
a few chances just to help her out? Nobody would turn a dog out-doors
a night like that. He wouldn’ bother anybody out in the kitchen all by
himself. Who would care anything about him, as long as they were having a
good time in the front of the house?
Taking a half dollar out of his pocket, he held it out to Carmelite
saying:
“Hyuh; take dis fo’-bits, an’ pick some good numbers, an’ see’f you can’
win de quilt for me; so I kin take it yonder to Aun’ Fisky.”
Carmelite took the coin without a demur. It was an unexpected
ameliorating charm. A welcome token of truce.
“Come on out hyuh an’ set to de stove; so I kin hurry up an’ wipe dese
tracks off dis flo’ befo’ innybody git hyuh,” Carmelite said in a quiet
voice, starting for the kitchen with Gussie following her. “An’ ’tain no
pity for _you_ make me change my min’; no,” she went on. “If ’twasn’ say
I know Aun’ Fisky so long; an’ know w’at she got to put up wid; I _sho_
would make you take de road tonight; brazen as you is, comin’ hyuh like
dis.”
Gussie pulled a chair close to the stove and sat down; glad to get where
it was warm, and thankful to be under shelter at last. Carmelite took
a floor-cloth from behind the door and went to the front room to wipe
up the mud tracks from Gussie’s shoes. After a while she came back; and
seeing Gussie looking at the coffee pot on the stove, she said:
“I’m goin’ give you a cup o’ coffee; an’ you stay hyuh an’ drink it. An’
don’t you come to de front w’en people git hyuh, an’ de raffle be goin’
on in yonder. You hyeah?”
Gussie told her that he would stay in the kitchen. All he wanted was to
get dry. And maybe after he drank his coffee, he would go to sleep for a
little while, before he passed by Tempe’s wake, on his way home.
“Well, you stay hyuh in de kitchen,” Carmelite reminded him. “An’ if inny
one yo’ numbers draw de quilt, I’ll fetch it out hyuh to you.”
She poured a cup of coffee and placed it on the apron of the stove for
him. Hearing voices at the front, she went to look after her guests;
leaving Gussie to take his enjoyment as he felt inclined.
When Carmelite came into the room, Scilla was standing in the middle
of the floor unpinning herself from the folds of an old gray blanket.
Mozella was sitting in the rocking-chair, wiping her bare feet with a
towel, and making ready to put on her shoes and stockings, which she had
carried in her hand. Pinkey was leaning against the door, hesitating to
come in, for fear of leaving mud tracks on the floor.
“Gawd knows, Carmelite,” she remarked half-regretfully, “you sho picked
out a nasty night to make people come ’way from home, an’ bring a whole
lot o’ mud an’ confusion in yo’ house,—jus’ for one quilt.”
Carmelite gave an unconcerned laugh and told her not to worry about the
mud. She had plenty of rags and soap to clean it up tomorrow. She wasn’t
too old and feeble to get down on her two knees to scrub. ’Specially
after people had come so well-meanin’ to help her make a few dimes, to
pay for all the sewin’ she put on that nice Jacob-ladder quilt she was
goin’ leave ’um to view later on. No indeed.... A little bit of mud
tracks wouldn’t upset her, if the crowd was goin’ to be plennyful.
Keziah came in, followed by Frozine who was carrying a lantern; her skirt
tucked up above her knees; her white stockings and battered pair of
loose-fitting men’s shoes giving her a most ludicrous appearance.
Soongy and Lethe were sitting in the corner, staring at her in amused
silence. Dink was standing across the room, looking at her with his hand
over his mouth, struggling to keep back a convulsive outbreak.
Carmelite went to take the lantern from Frozine, saying:
“Frozine, you come clean from home all thoo de street like dis? Wid a
lantun shinin’ ginse yo’ laigs so brazen? Callin’ people tenshun to you,
crittacul-lookin’ as you is?”
Who? Frozine remarked with a fine indifference. She didn’t have people
to study about.... She didn’t play with mud in the day-time; so she knew
good and well that she wasn’t going to take no chances with any Gritny
mud in the night-time.... Fallin’ down in the dark and wreckin’ herself,
without a lantern.... No indeed.... People laughin’ didn’t worry her.
They could laugh at her legs as much as they pleased. Laughin’ couldn’t
hurt her feelings.... But she sure Gawd was going to look to keep her
legs from getting hurt.... Yes indeed.... Because she had too many things
she had to do, before she “runned up on a accident an’ come to be a
cripple befo’ her time.”
“Hyuh Bennee done come, Carmelite. An’ got Duckery wid ’im, too,” Soongy
called to her as she went back with Frozine’s lantern.
The two young men came in smiling to everyone present, and the buzz of
conversation and merry laughter began to fill the room.
Carmelite came back with the Jacob-ladder quilt and spread it over a
chair for examination. The women commented on the bright colors, and
admired the beauty of the pattern, and praised Carmelite for the fine
work she had done. Carmelite thanked them for coming, and told them she
wanted everybody to have a good time.
“How long y’all expec’in to stay hyuh?” Duckery asked with playful
impatience. “You goin’ stay hyuh all night an’ cackle like a passul o’
guinea-hens?... Done forgot ’bout Tempe waitin’ for y’all to do some
singin’ ove’ ’uh, yonder to de church?... Y’all better git started an’ do
w’at you wan’ do; if you wan’ git finish an’ go to inny wake tonight.”
“Das jus’ w’at I say, Duckery. You sho right,” Soongy agreed. “W’at
Carmelite waitin’ for, innyway? Maybe de bad weather keepin’ de members
from comin’.... Look to me like dey got enough hyuh already to go ’head
wid de intuhprize.... Evvybody w’at done took a chance on de quilt ain’
got to be hyuh to see de thing go thoo, is dey?”
No. They didn’t have to wait any longer; Carmelite answered. She would
start things going right away. Calling to Dink, she told him to make
music on the comb so all would be lively. He began playing a merry time,
and the spirit of cheer and good fellowship went floating about the room.
Carmelite took from the table a cardboard shoe box containing the blanks
and numbered slips for the raffle, and asked Duckery if he would call
out the numbers. He put the numbered slips in his hat and the blanks in
Bennee’s hat; and after clapping his hands for attention, he said:
“If dey got innybody hyuh ain’t picked a number for dis raffle, dey
better come on now an’ choose; so we kin put ’um all in de hat together,
an’ leave Bennee commence shakin’ ’um up. ’Cause you know dis thing gotta
go thoo straight like a lotry.... Square deal to evvybody, ’dout inny
prefyun.” (Preference.)
Each member present had a number; and Carmelite had the list with their
names “marked-up on de paper.” They were all sure that the drawing would
be fair and square. Duckery would call the numbers and Bennee would
handle the blanks.
Dink’s harmonious comb was playing a pleasant obligato as the drawing
began, and all eyes were looking on with eager expectation.
“Number foteen!” Duckery called out, taking the slip from the hat with a
flourish.
“Nothin’ ain’ wrote on dis’n,” Bennee informed him, unfolding the blank
and examining it on both sides.
Duckery looked at him with an ominous scowl, exclaiming:
“Ole country nigger, ain’t you never took part in a raffle befo’?... Dat
ain’ de way you gotta call back to me w’en I calls out de number.... If
dey ain’ got nothin’ on de paper, all you gotta say to me is _Blank_....
’Till you picks out de paper got _Prize_ marked-up on it.... Now go
’head, an’ do de thing right.... An’ lissen good so you kin un’stan’ de
numbers w’en I calls ’um.”
“Da’s right, Duckery,” came Carmelite’s earnest approval. “You make dis
thing go thoo straight. ’Cause I don’ wan’ have none y’all niggers say I
had dese numbers fixed-up befo’ han’. An’ say I robbed ’um out a dime,
’cause dey ain’ had de luck to win de quilt.”
“I know you ain’ talkin’ to me,” she heard Scilla’s sharp staccato call
out. “I know I ain’ goin’ bother my good self ’bout raisin’ no trouble
over one li’l ole dry dime I done paid out on any quilt.”
“Number nine,” Duckery called in a loud voice.
“Dis’n blank, too,” Bennee answered innocently.
Duckery rolled his eyes and glared at him intently, while everybody
laughed at Bennee’s forgetfulness.
“Number fifty-two,” Duckery called, fixing his gaze sternly on Bennee.
“Blank,” Bennee answered with a pleased grin; satisfied that he was
learning the intricacies of the game.
“Number nineteen,” Duckery called gaily; seeing Mozella looking at him
with keen anticipation.
“Blank,” came Bennee’s announcement.
“Law ...d!” reverberated Mozella’s exclamation of disappointment. “I
sho thought my number nineteen was goin’ bring me good luck.... Da’s de
number o’ de day my sister baby was bawn.... An’ bawn wid one teeth in de
front ’is mouth, too.”
“O g’way from hyuh, gal,” scoffed Keziah, giving Mozella a playful push.
“Ugly an’ ill-formed as yo’ sister baby is,—’tain no wonder yo’ li’l dime
done went astray.”
Much displeased at being interrupted by the laughter that followed
Keziah’s comment, Duckery looked at the women and shouted crossly:
“Quit y’all wranglin’, for Gawd sake! An’ lemme git thoo playin’ wid dis
hat-full o’ papers.... You think I wan’ stay hyuh all night?”
The commanding tone of his voice and the spectacular batting of his
eyelids brought immediate silence. Whereupon he called out vehemently:
“Number twenny-two!”
“Twenny-two blank like de yuther one,” Bennee answered with a tone of
apparent surprise.
“You already done forgot w’at I tol’ you?” Duckery grumbled, fixing him
with a menacing stare, before taking another slip from the hat.
“Number ninety-nine,” he boomed, looking at Bennee steadily.
“Dis’n ain’ blank!” Bennee called out joyfully. “Dis’n got somh’n wrote
’cross it, diffunt from all de yuther ones.”
“Number ninety-nine de prize!” Broke forth the excited chorus of soprano
voices.... “Who number ninety-nine is, Carmelite?” they questioned.
“Ninety-nine done win de quilt.... Innybody hyuh got ninety-nine for dey
number?” They babbled. “Who ever ’tis picked ninety-nine for dey number,
sho is lucky. Ain’t dey?” The comment went on; until Carmelite brought
the list of names and looked to see whose name was written after the
winning number.
“Lawd, people!” She exclaimed with delight. “Aun’ Fisky de one done win
de quilt.... An’ I ain’ sorry, either. Bad as she needin’ cov’rins w’en
de col’ weather come up on ’uh.”
“Some people sho is lucky,” declared Lethe.
“Not me,” Frozine informed her. “I ain’ never win nothin’ in my whole
life.... An’ hyuh I comed thoo all dis mud an’ rain to witness Carmelite
fine Jacob-ladder quilt go ’way from hyuh to lay ’cross somebody else
bed.... Umph!”
“Who?” commented Pinkey, sympathetically. “You ain’ need to grumble....
De onles’ thing I ever win, was a li’l can o’ cundense milk one time....
Sho’ ’nough. No playin’,” she went on, trying to convince them in spite
of their laughter “’Twus to a singin’ cawntes’ at de Red Bean Row, yonder
in Freetown.... An’ w’en I got home an’ went to open de cundense milk; de
thing had done turn so sour, I was compel to th’ow it away.”
Becoming impatient over the long delay and the amusing gossip of the
women, Duckery asked them:
“Y’all goin’ stay hyuh an’ talk all night ’bout bad luck; an’ tell
each-another ’bout all de things you done los’?... If evvything done
finish, I’m goin’ th’ow dese papers out my hat an’ go ’way from hyuh.”
Carmelite took his hat and told him to wait. She had a little surprise
for everybody. She had a nice cake she made for the occasion, and she
wanted each one to have a piece of cake and some coffee “to console dey
feelin’s for not winnin’ de quilt.” Then afterwards, they could all go to
the wake together.
The announcement brought a smile to every face. Dink began playing on the
comb with renewed animation; and the room buzzed with merry laughter and
friendly chatter as Carmelite went back to get the refreshments.
Going into the kitchen in a happy frame of mind, she called to Gussie
cheerfully:
“Who you reckon had de lucky number to win de quilt, Gussie?”
There was no response to her question. Gussie was sound asleep in his
chair beside the stove. She decided that it was best not to wake him
until after the refreshments were served. Then when everybody was ready
to leave, she would call him and give him the quilt to take home to Aunt
Fisky.
Carmelite took a knife from the safe drawer and tiptoed over to the table
to cut the cake. The plate was empty. Nothing on it but a few scattered
crumbs to tell that just a short while before it held a splendid duck-egg
cake.