“Am she really got dat many money, or do she jes’ value her carcass at dat many dollars?” Figger asked suspiciously.
“I dunno,” Skeeter replied doubtfully. “All she said wus dat she wus wuth one thousan’ dollars.”
“Huh,” Figger grunted skeptically. “She mought be pricin’ herse’f too high.”
Suddenly the green-baize doors of the saloon were thrust aside, and a clear voice called:
“Oh, Skeeter! Come out here!”
Skeeter jumped like someone had popped a dynamite cap under his chair, and hastened out to the front. Figger followed slowly for the purpose of getting a good look at Skeeter’s new girl.
She was well worth seeing. She was as slim and straight and graceful as a stalk of sugar-cane; her color was a little darker than Skeeter’s; an Ethiopian type, with perfect features, a sinewy, cat-like movement of muscles under satiny skin, easy-smiling lips, which played constantly over perfectly beautiful teeth, and a speaking voice which any orator in the world would covet.
“Lawd,” Figger sighed enviously. “She’s wuth de thousan’ dollars, all right.”
“I wants my dawg, Skeeter,” Tella Tandy said. “I’s gwine down to de deppo to watch de train come in. Want to come wid me an’ tote de dawg?”
“No’m,” Skeeter answered regretfully, as he snapped his fingers and the little Spitz leaped under the saloon doors and sprang into his owner’s arms. “I got to make a livin’ keepin’ bar. I’ll go wid you some yuther time.”