“Don’t whisper so loud,” Dazzle warned the men. “Ef de white folks ketch us up on dis roof dey’ll kill us dead wid guns an’ put us in jail.”
“’Twon’t be no worse dan spendin’ de rest of our lives up on de top shelf of dis house,” Pap Curtain retorted.
“’Tain’t no reason fer us to set up on top of dis roof,” Hitch Diamond growled. “Us might git sleepy an’ roll off an’ bu’st ourselfs like a water-millyum. Less git down through de trap-door into de attic.”
“Of co’se, dat’s de idear!” Skeeter applauded. “Vinegar ain’t guarding but one side of dis house nohow. Us’ll slip out on de yuther side an’ go away from here.”
He reached for the edge of the door and tried to lift it. It would not move. The latch on the other side of that door had held the door in place through Gulf storms which had snapped trees like toothpicks.
“Dis door is heavy, Hitch—git aholt!” Skeeter panted, straining at his task.
Four negro men promptly lent their aid and lifted, but they did not lift the door.
“My lawdymussy!” Hitch Diamond sighed with sudden enlightenment, as the cold, nervous sweat popped out on his forehead with the realization of their predicament. “I knows whut us is done. Dis dang door is got a ketch-lock on de inside, an’ us is done locked ourselfs out an’ up on de roof!”
“Is you plum’ shore, Hitchie?” Skeeter asked in a voice that was near to tears.
“I knows it,” Hitch whispered. “Marse Tom sont me up here one time to look fer a leak in de roof, an’ I locked myse’f out in jes’ dis same way.”