When the midnight train arrived, Skeeter was on the platform, bidding good-by to Tickfall with a happy face.
The news of his sudden rise to prosperity had spread with amazing rapidity through the colored portions of the town. No one knew the details, but all heard that the horse Skeeter bought had won a fortune at the races. Nine men were sorely distressed that they had treated Skeeter so shabbily and had disposed of their shares of the horse.
Just as the train started, nine negroes came running across the station platform. Pap Curtain was waving two boxes of cigars, Figger Bush was wildly gesticulating with the horn of his “grassyphome,” and the others were holding out their hands with money.
Conko Mukes ran along the station platform, clinging to the steps of the moving train, waving a ten-dollar bill, and speaking in pleading tones.
“I wants to buy my share of dat hoss agin, Skeeter!”
The train was gaining headway, and Skeeter leaned over, pretending he could not hear what was said.
“I wants to buy my share of de hoss back!” Conko bellowed, for he had to run now to keep up with the moving train.
Skeeter grasped the hand-rail on each side of him and kicked out with all the strength of his body.
The toe of his boot struck Conko Mukes on the point of the chin. The man staggered, stumbled, and fell as a rotten log falls in the forest. Eight of his friends stubbed their toes on him, stepped on him, fell on him, then picked him up, brushed off his clothes, and led him away.
The train moved through the darkness like a long serpent with shining, jeweled sides. Skeeter entered the car and sat down, smiling.