“When a nigger gits jealousy, he goes crazy in his head, an’ he’s liable to do mighty nigh anything,” Skeeter said earnestly.
“I’ll take keer of Shinny,” Whiffle laughed. “I’s mighty glad you tole me, so I’ll know whut to do.”
Skeeter returned to the saloon, and half an hour later the strange negro who was owner of the field-glasses came in.
“Skeeter, I wants to gib a free show at de nigger picnic-groun’ on de Cooley bayou dis afternoon. I invites eve’ybody, but I ’specially wants you an’ Vinegar Atts, an’ I would like to hab a nigger named Shin Bone.”
“How come you pick out such a crowd as dat fer special eye-witnersers?” Skeeter asked.
“A preacher, a saloon-keeper, an’ a resteraw man,” the stranger smiled. “A bunch like dat is able to supply all human needs.”
“It ’pears to me like you also needs a doctor an’ a undertaker,” Skeeter remarked; “but of co’se you knows yo’ own bizzness best.”
“You’ll know my bizzness better at de picnic-groun’,” the stranger returned.
“Us will be dar at three o’clock.”