“Gosh, white man! You ain’t never done no courtin’ in de South, is you? Eve’y white man whut goes courtin’ hires a nigger to go wid him.”
“What for?”
“I see you don’t know nothin’,” Skeeter chuckled. “I esplains dis fack; eve’y white lady dat is wuth courtin’ is got some nigger gal wuckin’ fer her in de kitchen. Eve’y white man whut onderstan’s courtin’ hires a nigger boy to go wid him an’ wait on him while he courts de lady. Now, dat nigger boy goes into de kitchen an’ tells dat nigger gal whut a allfired good ketch fer de white lady his boss am—an’ de nigger gal tells dat nigger boy whut a histidious, highfalutin lady her mistiss is, an’ dat arrangement he’ps courtin’ long an’ does a large amount of great good.”
The young man laughed, and Skeeter bent over his wheel, watching the road for stumps as his machine plowed through some high marsh-grass.
“Now, I always gives my white man a good recommend at de fust off-startin’,” Skeeter continued. “I tells de nigger gal my white folks don’t drink none, don’t gamble none, is got plenty money, owns a big plantation, and hires plenty niggers. When us mens goes home, dat nigger gal tells her mistiss whut I said about her gen’leman friend. Don’t you think dat’s a good arrangement?”
“I don’t know,” the young man said dubiously, as they ran into a clearing and stopped in front of a wide-spreading farmhouse. “I’ll wait and see. I like to talk for myself, but I might need you yet.”
“I hope so, boss,” Skeeter smiled as he pocketed the two dollars which the young man extended. “You want me to wait fer you?”
“No.”
“Want me to come back fer you?”
“No.”