He conducted Hitch to the rear of the big sawmill, led him through a maze of immense lumber piles, and brought him around the big mill-pond to a cluster of houses built by the owners of the mill for the occupancy of their negro employees.
There was one two-story house which looked like a barracks, and was intended for use by men who had no families. Into this Checkerboard led his companion.
“Set down, Revun,” he smiled. “Dis here is my boardin’-house. I keeps it fer de ’commodation of de nigger workers in de mill whut ain’t got no wifes an’ no home. Dey eats in dat eatin’-house down dar by de mill-pond an’ sleeps here.”
“It’s powerful hot in dis place,” Hitch complained as he seated himself.
“We keeps de winders down in de daytime because eve’ybody whut stays here is busy in de mill,” Checkerboard explained, as he pulled off his coat and hung it across his arm. “Pull off dat coat of yourn, an’ I’ll take yo’ stove-pipe hat an’ coat an’ hang ’em up wid mine.”
Hitch gratefully removed his hat and coat and sat down. He took a stogie from his vest-pocket and felt for a match.
“Don’t you wanter take off dat vest, too?” Checkerboard inquired. “You might git seegar ash all over it.”
“Dat’s right,” Hitch said, as he handed his friend the vest.
“Make yo’se’f at home, Revun,” Checkerboard said graciously. “Smoke all you please to—spit on de flo’—ack like you wus at yo’ own house! I got to hump aroun’ a leetle on bizzness befo’ de mill blows de whistle fer closin’ time. But I tells you in eggsvance, dat as fur’s I’m concerned, you kin stay in dis house fer a mont’.”
“You is a true lodge brudder,” Hitch rumbled in real gratitude. “I won’t never fergit you!”