The ’Fraid-Cat
I
“I’s glad de kunnel an’ ole miss is gone to N’Awleens,” Hopey Prophet remarked as she sank her thickly upholstered body into a deeply upholstered chair in the Gaitskill drawing-room. “I likes to take a seat an’ set down in de white folks’ parlor an’ ack white.”
“If de kunnel knowed we wus settin’ in dis boodwar, he’d bu’st our necks,” Dazzle Zenor giggled as she sat down on the stool at the grand piano and ran her slim ebony fingers over the white keys.
“I’ll shore fergit to tell him whar we spent our time while he wus gone,” Hopey chuckled, as she raised herself from the chair and waddled across the room to turn on all the electric lights. “Whut Marse Tom ain’t know won’t hurt us.”
“I needs a beau to entertain me in dis nice room,” Dazzle smiled, looking up at the chandelier now blazing with light. “All dis noble arrangement is wasted on me ’thout no man to see me in de middle of it.”
“Dat remark shows dat Skeeter Butts is still pesterin’ yo’ mind,” Hopey told her. “Ef he takes a notion to pay a call-visit, I’ll shore set right here an’ chapperoon him.”
“Us won’t need you,” the girl remarked in a dreamy tone as she ran her fingers down the keyboard of the piano. “Skeeter shore do look brave in his soldier suit.”
“Brave!” Hopey snorted. “Brave! Dat Skeeter Butts is de biggest coward in de Nunited States of Loozanny!”