“I’ll be in to-morrer mawnin’ early,” Figger answered, as he left.
But Figger did not appear in the saloon until the next day at noon. Skeeter had spent the time thinking up some especially cutting things to say to his partner, but Figger entered the place like a personified calamity and Skeeter forgot all his unkind words in an intense curiosity to know what had happened.
“I done run up on somepin awful bad, Skeeter,” Figger groaned. “Pap Curtain is fixin’ to start a saloon.”
“My Lawd!” Skeeter exclaimed. “De Hen-Scratch has been de onliest cullud saloon in Tickfall fer twenty year. Now dis here Pap Curtain is aimin’ to rival us out of bizzness.”
“Dat’s de way de rabbit p’ints his nose,” Figger assured him.
“Whar do he git de money?” Skeeter asked.
“He’s makin’ arrangements to marrify it,” Figger wailed. “Dar’s a great big ole cow of a woman out dar whut owns five hundred dollars. Her paw an’ maw is talkin’ it aroun’ an’ dey’s huntin’ somebody dat’ll marry her fer her money.”
“Is she as bad lookin’ as all dat?”
“Shore is. She looks like a puddin’ dat riz too high an’ spreads out too much. She kinder comes outen her clothes an’ rolls over de edges of a chair an’ de big of her ’pears like it’s boilin’ over all de sides all de time.”
“I ketch on,” Skeeter grinned. “She jes’ out-niggers herse’f by bein’ so fat.”