“He ain’t!” Dazzle protested.
“He am!” Hopey insisted, nodding her big head on her fat shoulders. “Skeeter ain’t never seed nothin’ in his life dat he wusn’t skeart of. He’s a nachel-bawn ’fraid-cat!”
“I don’t b’lieve dat,” Dazzle snapped. “Didn’t he go off an’ jine de army at de fust off-startin’ of de war?”
“Suttin he did!” Hopey chuckled. “But how come? Three nigger womens wus in dis town on de very same day; each one had a weddin’ license to marry Skeeter Butts—an’ you wus one of dem three womens! An’ whut did Skeeter up an’ do?”
“He volunteered to jine de army.”
“Shore! He wus forced to volunteer! Don’t dat show he’s a coward an’ a ’fraid-cat?” Hopey howled. “Why didn’t he stay in Tickfall like a brave man an’ marry dem three nigger womens?”
“He didn’t run because he wus skeart,” Dazzle asserted in Skeeter’s defense. “He jined de army because a lifelong war wid three nigger women wifes is too much of a muchness fer even a brave soldier like Skeeter.”
“I wish dat Mr. Bill Kaiser’s war had kotch him,” Hopey growled disloyally. “I bet dem Hunches would ’a’ throwed a skeer into Skeeter dat mought ’a’ skeart all de skeer out of him.”
“Skeeter wus a brave soldier,” Dazzle repeated obstinately.
“Soldier!” Hopey repeated with a contemptuous sniff. “Skeeter wusn’t nothin’ but a boot-black in de army, totin’ pink notes to de kunnel fer de lady folks.”