Gaitskill’s eyes ran down the line as he counted the negroes.
“Did all you darkies give Pap Curtain a dollar?” he asked in a loud voice.
“Yes, suh!” one hundred and eighteen voices answered in a mighty chorus.
“Good Lord!” Gaitskill snorted, as he gazed into their simple faces, marveling at their credulity.
Every merchant in town had closed his store to see the fun. Nearly every white male inhabitant of Tickfall was lined up across the street. The crowd grinned its delight, and watched with breathless interest while Gaitskill fumbled with his problem in confusion and perplexity, and an ignorance which the negroes would not enlighten.
Nothing tickles a Southern white man more than to see another white man all snarled up and in a jam of negro inanities. A fly in a barrel of molasses has about as good a chance of getting out of the mess.
“What did Pap Curtain tell you bucks?” Gaitskill bellowed.
There was a mighty clash of voices:
“He specify excussion——”
“Dancin’ on de deck eve’y night——”