“Bless Gawd! Dar’s Tickfall.”
When the car stopped in front of the bank, Gaitskill got out, carrying his money-bag, Pap and Mustard carrying their precious musical instruments.
“Marse Tom,” Mustard inquired, “does I git my same job at de Nigger-Heel back agin?”
“Certainly.”
“I’s shore glad of dat, Marse Tom. Sheriff Ulloa offered me a job, but I ain’t gwine take it.”
“What did the sheriff want you to do?” Gaitskill smiled.
“He axed me to he’p him lay a pipe-line to de Milky Way so he could start a dairy.”
Monarch of the Manacle.
“Skeeter, whose pup wus dat you wus totin’ aroun’ on yo’ arm yistiddy?” Figger Bush asked as he sat down beside a table in the Hen-Scratch saloon. “I’d druther be dead dan be perceived packin’ a pup.”