Prince Total was the first darky to make his appearance.
“Whar’s yo’ silber dollar, Prince?” Pap exclaimed with a broad grin before Prince had time to state his business. “No busted niggers needn’t apply—tickets is one dollar—Marse Tom’s own price.”
“Whut is dis doin’s?” Prince inquired. “Is Marse Tom gittin’ up a nigger excussion?”
“Dat’s de very game!” Pap snickered. “One dollar per each ticket. Marse Tom leaves me to pick de winners. Plenty brass-band music, plenty ice-water on de way; dancin’ on de deck eve’y night—all de real good arrangements whut niggers likes. You-all knows how Marse Tom fixes things up. Cross yo’ heart an’ body dat you won’t tell an’ gimme one round silber dollar fer de tip!”
Prince crossed Pap’s palm with silver and listened to his instructions:
“Go see Marse Tom at de bank at three o’clock dis atternoon!”
“Excussion!” Prince panted. “My, dat’s a shore ’nough word to ketch a nigger by de year. Gib ’em somewhar to trabbel an’ a crowd to go wid—Lawd, dat’s real good luck! I’s gwine out an’ succulate dem repote!”
By high noon Pap Curtain’s pockets were weighted with silver and he had revealed the magical tip to over one hundred negroes.
“Dis here is suttinly a good joke,” he snickered; “but ef I keeps it up too long I’s skeart I’ll laugh myself to death. I got a hunch dat I better mosey along todes de depot. Marse Tom done advise me to leave dis town.”
When the slow accommodation train pulled into the depot, Pap Curtain boarded it from the side farthest from the station, took an obscure seat in the negro coach, and did his best to attract no attention as the train conveyed him away from Tickfall.