“They could make some folks go. I guess it depends a lot on the folks.”
I found Catty arguing with his father, it seemed like his father was willing to pull up stakes and go away, and Catty was insisting that they were going to stay.
“But you can’t,” says Mr. Atkins, waggling his head kind of bewildered. “They won’t let you. They’re a-goin’ to chase you off. This here town don’t want no traffickin’ with us, no way. We might jest as well up and leave friendly as to get chased by a bulldog.”
“There ain’t no bulldog,” says Catty.
“Can’t never tell. Bulldogs puts in appearances when least expected.”
“They hain’t got no right to chase us off. We hain’t vagrants like the marshal said.”
“What be we, then?”
“Business men,” says Catty. “The marshal he says that a vagrant is a feller with no visible means of support. Well, hain’t we got visible means? Hain’t we in the paintin’ and decoratin’ business? Hain’t we got a job? Hain’t we rented a place of business? I guess we have.”
“You’ll see,” says Mr. Atkins, solemn-like. “When town marshals wants to run folks out of town, why, they jest up and runs ’em. Who’s a-goin’ to stop ’em?”
“Me,” says Catty. He snapped it out like he was biting the word off a chunk of the dictionary and it come hard.