“A trade am a trade,” Hitch grinned as he handed it over. “Ain’t one sock wet?”
“Naw!” Dude whispered. “I laid it on de groun’ till I jumped in de bayou, an’ I fotch it home under my hat.”
When Dude reappeared he was clothed in his best suit and wore the gaudiest socks he had ever owned.
“Set down by dis table, Dude,” Dainty said.
She went to the kitchen, and returned carrying a bowl, the rank odor of its contents permeating the room.
“My gawsh, Dainty!” Dude howled as she set the bowl of steaming liquid before him. “Whut is dis mess—a b’iled rat?”
“Naw,” Dainty said in her sweetest tones. “It’s a bowl of hot sass’fras tea!”
Dude howled his disgust.
“It’s mighty good fer a nigger whut’s had a accidunt, Dude,” Dainty told him with suspicious gentleness.
Dude glanced at Hitch Diamond. That gentleman’s face was set in a monstrous, mouth-stretching grin, and his eyes danced with unholy glee.