“Dunno, Marse John,” Skeeter grinned. “You know how niggers is. We figgered mebbe you white folks didn’t favor prize-fights.”
“That’s what I don’t understand,” Flournoy replied. “Goldie Diamond came running to town and told us the niggers were having a prize-fight, and when we went out to see it, she raised a whoop and scared all the niggers away.”
“Yes, suh,” Skeeter grinned. “Dat’s whut she done.”
“Why did she do it?” Flournoy persisted.
“Well, suh, I s’pose Goldie thought Hitch wus gwine git knocked out. Anyways, I’s powerful glad it happened, Marse John. Ef dat hadn’t come to pass, Skeeter Butts would be bankbust by dis time in de mawnin’.”
Flournoy turned away by no means satisfied, but confident that there was some nigger secret in the matter which the darkies would never reveal.
Skeeter left him and hastened down to the Hen-Scratch saloon where he found Hitch Diamond and Conko Mukes waiting for him.
The two pugilists and their seconds had spent nearly all night straightening out their finances after the bets had been declared off, and the fight had run off.
Conko Mukes had been drinking heavily and was in a bad humor.
“I got jes’ one thing ag’in’ you, Hitch,” he growled, “an’ dat is dat las’ punch you gib me on de jaw. You acked like you wus hypnertized, an’ I wusn’t lookin’ fer no punch. I don’t think dat wus plum’ fair.”