“One dollar, per lesson, each nigger,” Red Cutt announced in a businesslike tone.
“How many niggers is allowed to learn at one time?” Skeeter inquired.
“One hundred niggers. We organizes de High Exalted Nigger Flyin’ Club, and we all takes lessons at the same time.”
“When is we gwine organize dis club?” Skeeter Butts inquired.
“It will suit me best if we organizes to-night,” Red Cutt replied. “Because, you see, I ain’t got so awful long to stay at any one place.”
“I kin fix dat,” Hitch Diamond growled. “De Nights of Darkness lodge meets to-night. We has got a little mo’ dan one hundred members, but dar never wus a lodge full of niggers whar all of ’em had one dollar per each at one time. So I imagines dat when we sends out word dat eve’y nigger dat comes to de lodge to-night must have a dollar fer a special puppus dar won’t be mo’ dan one hunderd dat will see deir way clear to come.”
“We might take our fust lesson at de lodge to-night, atter we completes de organization,” Red Cutt suggested.
“Dat will suit me perzackly,” Hitch rumbled. “I’s de presidunt of de Nights of Darkness lodge, and I’ll give de word, an’ whut I says goes.”
Red Cutt reached to his hip-pocket and brought forth a red-covered book and laid it on the table before them. Vinegar Atts leaned over and gazed at the title of the book—“How to Fly.” He opened to the title-page of the volume and beheld a picture of a man dressed in the aviator costume, with his goggles pushed back on his forehead, his mouth wide-spread in a happy grin.
“Somepin shore tickles dis flyin’-man,” he chuckled. “I wonder is he so awful pleased wid himself because he is gwine up or because he has jes’ come down?”