Conko Mukes took off his hat, and his immense mouth with its mashed and shapeless lips spread wide in an ugly grin.
“Don’t you know me, Mister Jimmy?” Conko asked.
“My Lord!” Zodono exclaimed after a moment’s inspection. “You damn’ ole coon! What you doing in this place, Conko?”
“I had to take a good riddunce of Georgia, Mr. Jimmy,” Conko growled, grinning like a bear. “De gram jury lawed me all de time an’ dat place got too hot. How is all de white folks an’ de niggers in Tupelo?”
“Fine—when I saw them last,” Zodono grinned. “The grand jury lawed me, too, and I left.”
“Is dat how come you change yo’ name?” Conko asked in polite tones.
“Oh, no; it wasn’t as bad as that,” Zodono laughed. “But I could never make any money in my business with my real name. A spiritualistic medium, fortune-teller, magician, and hypnotist named Jim Skaggs—that would never do. What are you doing here?”
“I’se prize-fightin’, Mr. Jimmy. I been fightin’ up’n down de Mississippi River, an’ I come here to git a fight dis atternoon wid a nigger named Hitch Diamond.”
“How did you like my show out in front?” Zodono asked.
“It wus fine, Mr. Jimmy!” Conko exclaimed in enthusiastic tones. “Dat’s how come I wants to see you. I would like to ’terrogate you ’bout dat show.”