“Mebbe we could wish her onto somebody else,” Figger proposed.
“I been tryin’ to think up some onmarried man,” Skeeter told him, “but I don’t see none in sight.”
They smoked for an hour longer without producing a spark of an idea. At last Skeeter said:
“All I kin do jes’ now, Figger, is to keep Pap away from dat gal ontil I finds a fitten secont husbunt fer her. Dar’s gwine be a prize-dance to-night an’ I nominates you to dance wid Sister Solly Skaggs.”
“Ef she trods on me I’ll be a squashed worm of de dust,” Figger wailed.
“Don’t talk back,” Skeeter replied sharply. “I’ll fix it so you an’ Sister Solly win de prize.”
III
“DAT FAT, FLOUNDERIN’ FOOL”
Mrs. Solly Skaggs was a widow of the sod variety and had enjoyed her matrimonial release for about six months. She had not mourned too much for Solly nor had she loved him much. For he was about as lovable as a sick dog and his departure from the world was a distinct blessing to all the inhabitants thereof.
Old Isaiah Gaitskill, in discussing her chances for matrimony again, assured her that no negro would marry her because she was too fat. But this did not discourage the lady and there was no indication of despair either in her manner or her deportment, for she dressed and acted like a miss of sweet sixteen.