E. K. Means / Is This a Title? It Is Not. It Is the Name of a Writer of Negro Stories, Who Has Made Himself So Completely the Writer of Negro Stories That His Book Needs No Title

by E. K. Means

“Naw,” Figger laughed. “Ef de cormittee ’vestigates an’ repotes me dead, dey kin gib dat ben’fit to Popsy.”

At this point the green-baize doors of the saloon were pushed open and Scootie Tandy blew in quivering with excitement.

“Whut’s up, Scootie?” Skeeter exclaimed, springing to his feet.

“Gawd pity you, Figger!” Scootie howled in tragic tones. “You made a awful mistake in gwine dead so suddent!”

“Which way?” Figger asked in a frightened voice.

“I went to de bank wid Popsy Spout an’ found out dat Popsy an’ Marse Tom Gaitskill is kinnery!” Scootie gushed forth.

“Hear dat, now!” Skeeter exclaimed in a voice of wonder.

“Popsy gib Marse Tom a wad of money dat it took Popsy five days to count!” Scootie ranted.

“Oh, my Lawd!” Figger wailed.

“Marse Tom gib Popsy one hundred an’ twenty dollars int’rust prannum on his money, an’ a awder on de sto’-house fer reg’lar rations, an’ a cabin to live in!” Scootie squalled.