“Hello, Revun!” he exclaimed in a low tone. But Vinegar’s audible breathing was undisturbed by the birdlike voice.
“Hey, elder!” Skeeter hailed, getting louder. Skeeter frightened himself by the courageous loudness of his voice, but Vinegar heard nothing to interrupt his dreams.
“Ho! Vinegar Atts!” Skeeter barked; and when he perceived no effect, he howled: “Hey, you ole fool nigger preacher, wake up! Git up!”
“Hush, Skeeter!” Mustard Prophet warned him. “You’re hollerin’ loud enough to wake up all de white folks in dis town, but it takes a real whoopful tone to wake a nigger. Don’t fotch all de white folks up on us.”
“How we gwine git dis old fool woked up?” Skeeter snapped.
“Take a brick off de top of de chimney an’ throw it down at him,” Little Bit suggested.
They wrenched off a brick and threw it. It hit the ground with a loud slap. Vinegar slept on.
“I knowed dat would be de come-out,” Hitch grumbled. “Bricks won’t wake up a nigger onless dey land on his head!”
“Whut we gwine do?” Skeeter wailed. “I never wus as tired roostin’ on a roof in my life.”
Nobody answered, and there was silence while all pondered the problem. The next suggestion came from Figger Bush.