“’Lo, Shinny,” Skeeter mumbled as he tried to stuff a whole slice of pie in his mouth at one time, and therefore became incapable of coherent speech for the next few minutes.
“Hello,” Shin replied, watching Skeeter with interest until the last of the first slice of pie was washed down by the milk. “How’s bizzness?”
“’Tain’t so awful bad,” Skeeter replied. “You an’ me is got good trades. Folks comes to yo’ place because dey gits hungry reg’lar, an’ dey comes to me because dey gits thirsty reg’lar. All we got to do is to wait till dey comes.”
“I ain’t find dat true now, Skeeter,” Shin said gloomily. “Wid me, bizzness is plum’ rotten.”
“How come?” Skeeter asked unconcernedly.
“Pol’tics.”
Skeeter’s interest revived. His second slice of pie lingered half a foot from his mouth, poised upon his hand.
“Dis here Uplift League election has done loss me all de customers I’m got,” Shin mourned. “Dey done boycotted me, an’ tunked my bizzness in de head wid a ax.”
“Dey hadn’t oughter done it,” Skeeter exclaimed, working himself into a panic. “How did it come to pass?”
“My wife, Whiffle, is de niece of Pap Curtain,” Shin explained. “Pap is runnin’ fer de presidunt of de Liftuppers ag’in Mustard Prophet. All niggers dat favors Mustard is done cut me out.”