Vinegar Atts knew the value of the oratorical pause; he waited until the sighing of the trees and the radiance of the moonbeams had touched even the most stupid mind among them. And then in a deep, solemn voice he continued:
“Way back in de Ole Testarment day whar people lived forty thousan’ years ago, de Prophet Ezekiel tell us about dis here machine. I wus readin’ it to-night, and dis is whut de Good Book says:
“‘I looked an’ behold in de firmament dat wus above my head, dar wus de appearance of de likeness of a throne——’”
“My Gawd!” an awed voice exclaimed, as all the negroes turned and looked at the seat in the airplane. Vinegar Atts resumed:
“‘Dar appeared in de cherubim de form of a man’s hand under de wings, an’ when I looked, behold, four wheels as ef a wheel had been in de midst of a wheel. An’ when de cherubim went, de wheels went wid him——’”
“My—good—gosh!” Pap Curtain interrupted with his snarling voice, his tone surcharged with terror.
Vinegar Atts paid no heed to the interruption, but went on in a voice that was like a great bellow:
“‘De cherubim lifted up deir wings to mount from de yearth, an’ de same wheels turned not from beside dem; when dey stood, dese stood, an’ when dey wus lifted up, dese lifted up demselves also, fer de spirit of de livin’ creature wus in dem, an’ de cherubim lifted up deir wings an’ mounted from de yearth in my sight.’”
With the utterance of the last word, Vinegar waved his hand in a dramatic gesture toward the sky. There was one dark cloud in all the clearness of the atmosphere, a mass of fog and mist which had risen from the Gulf of Mexico and was scudding with amazing speed before the stiff, salty breeze from the south. The negroes glanced up at that cloud and watched it as it became smaller, sped to the edge of the horizon made by the forest, and disappeared from their sight. It seemed to them that some winged creature of the sky had sailed above them, and Vinegar, in his great superb barytone voice, began to sing:
“Let de chariot of fire roll by,