“Vinegar,” Skeeter said, “does you still mourn de loss of dat stove-pipe preachin’ hat whut you drapped in de river to-day?”
“I suttinly do!” Vinegar growled.
“Would you wish to earn another good silk hat by a little wuck?” Skeeter inquired next.
“Shorely.”
“I’ll make you a present of a ten-dollar silk hat, white silk linin’ on de inside an’ slick, shiny fur on de outside wid a red silk handkercher to slick it up wid, ef you’ll take my auto back to Tickfall to-night an’ meet me at de Tickfall landin’ on de river to-morrow mawnin’,” Skeeter Butts said.
“Whut—whut——”
“Don’t ax no ’terrogations!” Skeeter snapped.
“I’ll do it!” Vinegar howled.
Hitch Diamond lifted out the bundles, and Vinegar sat down at the wheel, turned the machine, and roared his farewell to the men.
Picking up the bundles, Skeeter led his friends down the levee for a short distance, stopping when he saw a black shape on the water.