“Befo’ Gawd!” the old man bawled. “Dar’s little Jimmy Gaitskill dat I ain’t seed fer sixty year’!”
“You’s gwine back too fur, Popsy,” Mustard laughed. “Dat’s Marse Jimmy Gaitskill’s grandchile.”
“Huh,” the old man grunted, as Mustard helped him to a seat in the wagon. “De Gaitskills look de same all over de worl’.”
“How does dey look, Popsy?” Mustard chuckled.
“Dey’s got de look of eagles,” Popsy replied.
Shin watched the wagon until it disappeared around a turn in the road. His eyes were on Popsy’s bent form as far as he could see it.
“Dat’s de biggest bat I ever knowed,” Shin remarked to the world as he turned back and entered his place of business.
III
THE RABBIT-FOOT
Two hours later, Mustard Prophet stopped his wagon in the horse-lot of the Nigger-Heel plantation.
“Dis is whar you mounts down, Popsy,” he said.