“I makes you one promise fer dis twenty, Skeeter,” Wash said. “Pap won’t start no saloon in Tickfall. As fer marryin’ de widder, I cain’t promise dat he won’t. Not even Gawd knows whut kind of man a widder is gwine to marry.”
V
AN UNFORESEEN COMPETITOR
The one negro in Tickfall who never dressed up was Pap Curtain. He was the well-digger and the grave-digger of that community, and he carried the marks of his trade upon him, clay on his clothes, on his hands, on his hat. But to-night for the first time in the memory of men, Pap was arrayed in gorgeous garments. He attracted much attention.
“Whoo-pee, Pap!” Vinegar Atts bellowed. “I cain’t make up my mind whether you is a young nigger beginnin’ to show yo’ age, or a ole nigger tryin’ to look lesser dan yo’ real age.”
“I done heerd remarks like dat a plum’ plenty, Revun,” Pap snarled. “I admits dat I’s gwine on seventy odd year ole.”
“I didn’t say you wusn’t, brudder,” Vinegar said propitiatingly. “But whut do an ole nigger like you dress up like you fer? Dar ain’t no fun’ral to go to an’ us ain’t habin’ no lodge meetin’ to-night.”
“Dey’s yuther reasons fer dressin’ up,” Pap said with a grin.
Vinegar slapped his hand to his head and a sudden remembrance transformed his countenance.
“I like to fergot dat weddin’ complete! I onderstan’ now—you’s ragged out fer de weddin’. I muss be gittin’ ole an’ fergitful. An’ I got some questions to ax dat widder befo’ she steps off.”
Vinegar hurried away and Pap stood grinning after him. When the colored clergyman was lost to sight in the crowd, Pap turned away, mumbling to himself: