Further E. K. Means / Is This a Title? It Is Not. It Is the Name of a Writer of Negro Stories, Who Has Made Himself So Completely the Writer of Negro Stories That This Third Book, Like the First and Second, Needs No Title

by E. K. Means

“Dat’s so,” Mustard said indifferently. “Dey cusses me fer whut I does an’ dey cusses me fer whut I ain’t do, an’ now dey is tryin’ to boost me out an’ drap me down.”

“I don’t favor it, Mustard,” Skeeter said earnestly. “I come out to offer my he’p. You oughter hab me to scuffle fer you durin’ de day while you got to wuck on dis plantation.”

“Dat’s a good notion, Skeeter,” Mustard said thankfully. “I app’ints you he’per right now.”

“Hol’ on, Mustard,” Skeeter said. “It don’t go so fast an’ easy as dat. In de fust place, I wants de Hen-Scratch saloon to be de headquarters of yo’ side in de race.”

“I’ll arrange dat,” Mustard said easily.

“In de nex’ place, I wants to run wid you on yo’ side fer vice-presidunt,” Skeeter continued.

“I’ll fix dat easy,” Mustard said. “Dar ain’t nobody wid good sense dat wants to be vice-presidunt of nothin’. Dat’s like bein’ de curl in a pig’s tail—jes’ ornamental behind.”

“’Tain’t no diffunce, I wants dat job,” Skeeter insisted.

“I announces you to-morrer,” Mustard said.

“Dat’s all, Mustard,” Skeeter concluded, as he slapped his hat on his head. “I got to hustle back now an’ start my voters to wuckin’.”