PAGE
[Foreword]iii
[The Late Figger Bush]1
[Hoodoo Eyes]39
[The Art of Enticing Labor]72
[The Cruise of the Mud Hen]92
[Two Sorry Sons of Sorrow]127
[Monarch of the Manacle]186
[All is Fair]214
[Hoodoo Face]274

ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE
[“Boo-hoo,” Scootie Wailed. “Aw! Shut Up,” the Old Man Snapped]Frontispiece
[“I’se de Braying Jack-ass of Georgia, an’ no Nigger in Tickfall Cain’t Comb my Mane”]58
[“Colonel Gaitskill Telephoned me that your Pockets Were Full of Money”]86
[When the Boat Stopped]110
[Mustard Proceeded to Paint him Red]158
[Skeeter Went down the Street at Full Speed]208
[The Pie-faced Sorrel with the Snake-bitten Leg]218
[The “Revun” Vinegar Atts Began his Sermon.]328

The Late Figger Bush.

Figger Bush did not look like a man who was about to die; if anything, he looked like one who ought to be killed.

He was a scarecrow sort of a negro, with ragged, flapping clothes. His coal-black face formed a background for a little, stubby, shoe-brush mustache, and Figger thought that mustache justified his existence in the world. He had not much use for his coconut head except to support a battered wool hat and grow a luxuriant crop of kinky hair. He had an insuperable aversion to all sorts of work.

None of these things indicated that Figger was about to die; in fact, they showed that he was enjoying life.

The only thing that indicated an unusual condition in Figger was the fact that he was now walking down the middle of the road with rapid and ever-lengthening steps, glancing from side to side, and grumbling aloud to himself.