“Yes, suh,” Dainty agreed.
“Now you notify de case of yo’ husbunt tryin’ to make a goat of hisse’f an’ butt down all de timber in de yard. I feels like I oughter tell you dat dat nigger is plum’ full of guile. Right dis minute, he’s figgerin’ to fall in de bayou an’ come to de house all wet, an’ say de bull done butted him, an’ ax fer a leetle drap.”
“Am—dat—so?” Dainty inquired with popping eyes.
“Yes’m,” Hitch assured her. “Of co’se, a man in my perfesh don’t harmonize wis no sech plans like dat. Hit’s a sin ag’in’ de conscience.”
Dainty stood up and laid her hand upon the handle of the jug.
“I’s gwine put dis jug back in de storeroom. Dude don’t git none. He is a fraudful nigger!” She set the jug on the top of the trunk, locked the storeroom, and went to the kitchen.
Hitch heard her chopping kindling wood and rattling the stove-lids. He heard the roar of the fire as the flame from the rich pine-knots soared up the chimney.
Ten minutes later Dainty entered and sat down with Hitch again, her eyes gleaming with wifely resolution.
“Dar he comes now!” Hitch snickered, pointing through the window. “Look at him—wet as a b’iled owl an’ walkin’ lame in bofe behime legs like a stringhalt mule. Lawd, Lawd!”