“Dar ain’t nobody at dat house to do bizzness wid excusin’ Mr. Shinny an’ Miss Jew-ann.” No answer. “Which one am you doin’ bizzness wid, boss?”
“Which one do you think?”
“Of co’se, I’m jes’ guessin’—but ef I wus a white man I’d shore crave to talk bizzness wid de lady.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” the stranger laughed.
“I done got you located now, boss,” Skeeter chuckled delightedly. “You is courtin’.”
They turned suddenly to the left and ran into a dark road which lead through a section of the Little Moccasin Swamp. The wheels began to slip in the mire and Skeeter gave his entire attention to his automobile to prevent stalling in the mud. At last they reached firmer ground, and Skeeter returned to the conversation.
“Of co’se, I ain’t axin’ you fer no job, boss, but I’s been powerful assistance to a whole passel of young white mens dat’s come courtin’ in dis country.”
“What special help can you render?” the stranger asked.
“Expe’unce an’ conversation,” Skeeter replied promptly. “I done courted ’bout a millyum womens my own self, an’ I knows all de funny curves dey tries on. I gives exputt advice to all de niggers dat marries in Tickfall. I ain’t no marrifyin’ man myse’f, but I favors it an’ he’ps it along.”
“How can you render assistance through your conversation?” the young man smiled.