“De price is fifteen cents, Popsy,” Shin reminded him, as he followed him toward the front. “Let me hold yo’ spoon while you feels fer yo’ money.”
“I didn’t fotch no spoon wid me,” the old man whined, as he held it out to Shin. “Dis spoon is your’n.”
He paid the money to Shin, and started toward the door again, when he was once more intercepted.
“Lemme fix de collar of yo’ coat, brudder,” Shin suggested.
He seized the old man by the shoulders, shook the loose coat on his thin shoulders, and pretended to fit it around his wrinkled neck; at the same time, he thrust his hand into the coat pocket and extracted the purloined knife and fork.
Popsy never missed them. In fact, he did not know that he had them. Shin handed him his patriarchal staff and gave him a slight push toward the door.
At that moment Mustard Prophet stood at the entrance, “Is you ready to go out, Popsy?” Mustard asked cordially, as he shook hands.
“Dar now!” Popsy snorted. “I knowed I come in dis place fer some puppus, but I couldn’t think whut it wus. I promised to meet Mustard here. He’s gwine take me out to his house to dinner, an’ I’m done went an’ et!”
“Dat’s no diffunce, Popsy,” Mustard chuckled. “You’ll be hongry agin by de time you gits out to de Nigger-Heel.”
Popsy stopped beside the wagon and stared in pop-eyed amazement at the white boy who sat with his feet hanging out of the rear end.