Pap walked over and laid an impressive and detaining hand upon Figger’s shoulder. The crowd moved with Pap and enclosed him, and Figger found himself shut in on all sides.
“I been explavacatin’ dat de Uplift League ain’t been run right. Ain’t dat so?” Pap snarled.
“’Tain’t been run to suit me,” Figger murmured knowing that he could escape more easily if he agreed with Pap than would be possible if he started an argument.
“Suttin, it ain’t!” Pap howled triumphantly. “’Tain’t been run to suit nobody. De dues is too high, de members of de league is too choosy about admittin’ new members, an’ a poor an’ meek-seemin’ man ain’t got no show. Ain’t dat right?”
“Shore is,” Figger muttered, with some reluctance.
“You know how ’tis yo’ own self, Figger!” Pap howled, elated over Figger’s endorsement of his position. “I remember once you wusn’t allowed to come inside de league meetin’ because you had on shoes ’thout no socks!”
“Dat’s so,” Figger agreed.
“I argufies dat wus a insult an’ a outrage!” Pap snarled. “Don’t you agree wid dem sentiments?”
“Yes, suh.”
“I proclamates dat de members of de league oughter be allowed to dress as dey dern please,” Pap howled. “Let ’em come wid socks or widout socks—dem’s my docterines!”