“Us is all come to git in on de picnic, Marse Tom,” Figger Bush announced as spokesman. “We all paid our dollar an’ Pap tipped us off to come to de bank at closin’ time!”
“Pap did what?” Gaitskill snapped.
“He sold us a ticket to de excussion, Marse Tom,” Figger informed him. “Yes, suh, we is powerful glad you is gittin’ one up—peanuts an’ ice-water, an’ plenty brass-band music—all us niggers favors it fine!”
“What in the devil are you talking about?” Gaitskill bawled.
“Dunno, Marse Tom,” Prince Total spoke up. “Pap Curtain—he say you would tell us—it’s a plum’ secret.”
“It certainly is!” Gaitskill howled, glaring at the negroes with eyes blood-shot and apoplectic. “It’s a deep, dark, impenetrable secret! Where is that fool, Pap Curtain?”
“He went away on de dinner-time train, Marse Tom,” a voice informed him. “I seed him!”
Gaitskill stood in the door of the bank in absolute ignorance of the whole business, wondering what to do. Finally he went back to Figger Bush’s first statement:
“What did you say about a dollar?” he demanded.
“Us paid a dollar fer de tip, Marse Tom,” Figger replied.