Wash Jones was standing behind the tabernacle, mopping the copious
perspiration that streamed from his baboon face.
“I finds dis here bizzness a heap more wuck dan I bargained fer,” he
complained to Skeeter Butts. “When I fust started out I thought dat
niggers would jes’ entertain deyselfs an’ not expeck nothin’ from me but
de pleasure of my comp’ny. But I finds dat dey expecks me to be on de
job of waitin’ on ’em all de time.”
“Suttinly,” Skeeter snickered. “Ef I charged admissions to my saloon I
wouldn’t allow no niggers to wait on demselfs. I’d hab to serve ’em.”
“I done collected all de admission-fares I expecks to git,” Wash sighed,
fanning himself with his big hat. “As fer as I’m concerned, dis here
show kin end right now.”
“Ef you end her up now de people will kick an’ want deir money back,”
Skeeter reminded him. “You done collected up fer a week in eegsvance.”
“I’d be powerful glad to turn de job over to some yuther feller fer whut
he kin make out of it, ef I had a good excuse fer hittin’ de grit out of
here,” Wash suggested.
“I ain’t candidatin’ fer de place,” Skeeter chuckled. “But I kin show
you how you kin make a few more easy dollars ef you ain’t keer too much
how you got ’em.”
“Spill de beans right here, Skeeter,” Wash answered earnestly. “Dat
sounds good to me.”
“My trouble am dis,” Skeeter began. “You is givin’ a prize-dance
to-night an’ I wants to pick de winner.”
“I’ll app’int you one of de judges fer one dollar,” Wash said promptly.
“Dat won’t he’p none,” Skeeter said. “Dat’ll jes’ git one vote.”
“I’ll be a judge myse’f an’ dat’ll gib you two votes—dat is, ef you is
willin’ to bestow anodder dollar fer my vote.”
“Who will de yuther judge be?”
“Ef you gib me anodder dollar I’ll let you name him yo’se’f,” Wash
replied without hesitation. “Pick yo’ own nigger an’ trade wid him
pussonly fer his pussonal vote.”
“Here’s three dollars, Wash,” Skeeter chuckled as he rattled the money
in his hand. “You shore is a easy nigger to trade wid.”
“Jes’ ile my machinery aplenty an’ I’ll run along smooth,” Wash grinned
as he pocketed the money. “Who is de couple you wants to win dis
prize-dance?”
“Figger Bush an’ Sister Solly Skaggs.”
“Gosh!” Wash Jones exploded as he thrust his hand into his pocket,
brought out the three dollars and handed them back to Skeeter. “I loves
money but I ain’t troublin’ trouble.”
“Whut ails dem plans?” Skeeter asked, thrusting back the hand which
offered him the money.
“In de fust place, Sister Solly Skaggs can’t win a prize in no kind of
dance whutsoever. She cain’t dance no more dan a Mefdis meetin’-house.
In de secont place it’s a little too raw fer you to be de judge of a
dance an’ gib de prize to yo’ own pardner in de saloon bizzness.”
“I sees de light,” Skeeter said in a surprised tone. “I suttinly did
mighty nigh slip up on dat plan. Wonder whut we kin do to he’p you earn
dat money an’ still act honest?”
“Dat question is ’most too heavy fer my mind,” Wash said indifferently.
“I’ll keep dis three dollars an’ let you think up yo’ own plan. Ef it
don’t wuck, I’ll gib you yo’ money back.”
“Whut kind of prizes is you gwine gib, Wash?” Skeeter asked.
“Whutever kind of prizes you wants to buy,” Wash grinned. “I leaves it
wid you to pick ’em an’ pay fer ’em.”
“I thought you had ’em already selected!” Skeeter exclaimed.
“Naw, suh, I figgered it out dat some nigger would want hisse’f an’ his
gal to win dem prizes so I wus waitin’ fer him to bestow a little money
on me an’ furnish de prizes outen his own cash money.”
“You shore is a skillful nigger, Wash,” Skeeter said admiringly. “I
oughter run wid you a little while an’ git some new notions in my head.
You knows how to rob ’em widout gittin’ in jail.”
“You better git some notions in yo’ head ’bout dem prizes,” Wash warned
him. “Dat dance is startin’ off pretty soon.”
“’Tain’t no trouble to seleck de prizes,” Skeeter laughed. “I’ll git
Sister Skaggs a little round lookin’-glass ’bout big enough fer her to
see her nose in; an I’ll git Figger a nickel-plated cigareet holder.”
“Cigareet holders comes pretty high, don’t dey?”
“Yes, suh, but I don’t mind payin’ fer one. I been needin’ one dem
things fer a long time an I’ll make Figger gib it back to me.”
“Dat shows I ain’t de only nigger wid notions,” Wash laughed. “Dat’s a
real good trick. Is you got it mapped out how you will git de prize to
dem two dancers?”
“Dat ain’t no trouble.”
“I hopes it won’t make no trouble,” Wash remarked.
“Not at all!” Skeeter assured him. “You will be de onliest judge. Write
de names of each couple on a card an’ put all de cards in a bag. When de
times comes to gib de prizes, shake de bag up, put in yo’ hand an’ fotch
out de card wid de names of de winners.”
“How’ll I git holt of de card wid Figger’s name on it when it’s shuck up
in a bag?” Wash wanted to know.
“Take a pin an’ pin Figger’s card to de bottom of de bag on de inside,”
Skeeter explained. “All you got to do atter dat is to reach down an’
onpin dat card an’ fotch it out.”
Wash looked at Skeeter with the utmost admiration.
“Brudder Butts,” he said earnestly, “some day I’ll take a notion to rob
a rattlesnake of de skin under its chin. When I git ready to do it I’ll
plan a little wid you an’ learn how to do it.”
“Dat wus easy,” Skeeter grinned. “I kin always think up plenty good
plans fer de yuther feller. I falls down when I begins to study fer
myse’f.”
“How come you wants dese two to win so bad?” Wash asked.
“I’s tryin’ to break Pap Curtain’s nose!” Skeeter exclaimed. “He’s atter
de fat widder an’ her easy money. He aims to start a saloon, an’ I’s de
leader of de highest alcoholic circles in dis town an’ don’t need no
competition.”
“Nachelly you is ag’in’ dat,” Wash said promptly. “Mebbe ef you could
loant me twenty dollars I could think up some good plan to he’p you
out.”
Skeeter produced two ten-dollar bills.
“Jes’ keep Pap away from Sister Skaggs, Wash,” Skeeter said earnestly.
“Dat earns dis money. I think Pap is got a sure thing. He’s de only
onmarried nigger in Tickfall, an’ de widder will take anybody she kin
git. She ain’t choosy or she wouldn’t never choose Pap.”
“I makes you one promise fer dis twenty, Skeeter,” Wash said. “Pap won’t
start no saloon in Tickfall. As fer marryin’ de widder, I cain’t promise
dat he won’t. Not even Gawd knows whut kind of man a widder is gwine to
marry.”
V