“Ain’t you figgerin’ on gittin’ married to my sister’s child?” Pap asked.
“Suttinly.”
“Well, suh, dat’s de reason. But fer Gawd’s sake, keep de secret in de fambly!”
II
SKIPPER’S FORM.
“Dat shore he’ps me a lot,” Shin exulted, as he started rapidly down the street. “All I’m got to do is to bet on dat hoss fer a winner.”
Then his rapid gait suddenly ceased, his knees wabbled weakly, and he leaned against a convenient picket fence.
“O Lawd,” he groaned. “Dat jes’ makes my sorrer cut mo’ deeper. I ain’t got no mo’ money to bet wid now dan I had befo’ I got dat tip!”
Sadly he turned his back to the fair and walked in the opposite direction, mumbling to himself.
“Dat’s always my luck,” he mourned. “Ef it rains soup my plate is turned upside down, an’ ef gold dollars draps down from de sky, I’m shore to be locked up in jail.”
He passed along the ever-lengthening stream of negroes going to the races.