Skeeter Butts, standing by the door at the side entrance with Mrs. Deo Diddle and the baby, heard the excitement and the screaming, and grinned with delight.
“Come on, sister Diddle,” Skeeter exclaimed exultantly. “I’ll show you yo’ kind, good husbunt now. Us is got him in a box!”
He led her through the side entrance to the stage just as Vinegar Atts struck the pine box a heavy blow with the ax, cut the ropes, knocked off the top, and lifted the half-unconscious, and wholly terrified Handcuff King out of the box, his coat-tail nailed securely, his hands and ankles still manacled, and the bottom of the box containing dozens of keys which Deo had dropped in his eagerness and haste to escape!
In the meantime, the entire audience had taken its departure. Even Vinegar Atts left after he released the formaldehyde with the magician. There was no attraction on the stage which could enable them to endure that dreadful odor. Figger Bush lingered around the front door, sticking his head out at intervals to get a breath of pure air.
“Dat’s him!” Skeeter exclaimed dramatically, as he pointed to the drooping form of Deo Diddle, who was rapidly reviving, although he still hung to the shattered box by his coat-tail. “Dat’s de villyum whut is done run off from his wife an’ chile an’ tuck up wid anodder woman!”
“Who—him!” Mrs. Diddle exclaimed, pointing to the performer. “Huh—dat ain’t my husbant—his name is Jim Tom Wyatt!”
Then she turned and faced the frightened Tella Tandy.
“Hello, Tella!” she exclaimed. “Whar is Deo?”
“He got drunk in Kerlerac an’ fit a white man to a shirt-tail finish an’ de jedge put him in jail fer fawty days,” Tella explained. “Me an’ Jim Tom is tryin’ to carry on de show till Deo gits out, an’, of co’se, Jim Tom is usin’ Deo’s name.”
“Dar now, Skeeter Butts!” Mrs. Diddle exclaimed. “Whut you lie to me fer?”