“Mebbe Popsy won’t b’lieve her,” Figger objected.
“Me an’ Vinegar will back her up in dat tale,” Skeeter assured him. “De revun elder won’t mind stretchin’ de blanket a little fer de sake of savin’ a friend. Ain’t dat so, Revun?”
“Dat’s so!” Vinegar declared. “My life job an’ my callin’ is savin’ niggers!”
“Whar muss I git to while I’m bein’ dead?” Figger inquired.
“Go fishin’,” Skeeter grinned. “Fishin’ is de best spote on yearth fer de livin’ an’ de dead!”
“How long am I got to stay dead?” Figger asked.
“When de ole man Popsy hears tell dat you is gone hence an’ ain’t no mo,’ he’ll take his foot in his hand an’ ramble back to Yalabam’,” Vinegar rumbled. “Dat’ll be yo’ sing to come fo’th from de dead!”
Figger put on his battered hat and stood up. He asked pleadingly:
“Couldn’t you loant a dead man half a dollar, Skeeter?”
“Whut you want wid it?” Skeeter snapped.