“Naw!” Conko bawled. “I cain’t colleck no ten pussent of no brass foot-rail or pool-table. I wants de cash!”
Up to this moment the day had been one of great humiliation. Now began a period in which Skeeter showed a marvelous mental versatility.
There was no way for him to pay back that forty dollars except to borrow it, and no one to borrow from but the white folks. He had to tell a different story to each white man in order to start the fountain of his generosity and secure the loan. And through the whole day of frenzied effort to meet the demands upon him, there was the haunting fear that the horse had wandered off and would never be seen again.
Early the next morning Skeeter started out to hunt his horse. Having bought it and paid for it, he wanted it. His search was futile, and when he returned to Shin Bone’s restaurant for his noonday meal he was loud in his protestations of woe.
“De white man whut sold you dat hoss went to de pasture an’ stole him out an’ tuck him away,” Shin Bone told him. “Instid of huntin’ dat hoss, you oughter git de sheriff on de trail of dat white man.”
“But de fence wus broke down,” Skeeter protested stupidly. “Dat shows dat de hoss got out by hisself.”
“Ef I wus gwine steal a hoss, I’d break down de fence so de folks would think de hoss got out,” was the reply.
This was a new idea to Skeeter, who really had not given much thought to his predicament. He carried this dark suspicion for the rest of the day, still hunting his horse, but devoid of all hope of finding it.
“Dat white man rode dat hoss to town, sold him to me, an’ rode him out of town,” he sighed pitiably. “Yet dat feller looked to me like a tollable nice man. He stressified dat he warn’t honest, but he specified dat he was a puffeck gentlemun. I ain’t never gwine he’p a white man agin!”
He thought of the forty dollars he had borrowed from the white folks and had to pay back. The profits from his little business were extremely small and growing less. The repayment of the borrowed money meant close economy for a long time.