“I got lef’ dat time,” he grumbled to himself. “But dis am jes’ de fust day of de frolic. I got plenty time yit. Fur as I know, I’s de only man aimin’ fer her, an’ de only onmarried man in de town.”
He lighted a pipe and sat smoking for five minutes. Then a new idea came:
“Wash Jones is de high boss of dis show, an’ I reckin Wash knows de widder. I oughter git Wash to he’p me hook her.”
At this point Popsy Spout wandered up to the bench and addressed Pap.
“I done loss my way in dese groun’s Pap,” he complained. “Dar’s so many wagins an’ buggies an’ niggers dat I can’t find de cabin whar I sleeps at.”
“You ain’t aimin’ to sleep now, is you?” Pap asked.
“I goes to bed reg’lar ’bout dis time.”
“Eve’ybody is stayin’ up to see de dance,” Pap said.
“I’s ag’in dancin’,” Popsy declared, with disgust in his tones. “Me an’ none of my kinnery follers atter de sinful dance. I done teached ’em better.”
“Teached who better?” Pap asked quickly, planning for revenge.