“Dar ain’t no room to set wid me,” Skeeter announced. “Dar ain’t but one seat, an’ I am in it.”
“But I got to set up dar! I’m de observer!” Vinegar howled.
Thereupon he clambered up into the machine, lifted Skeeter out of his place, sat down on the seat himself, and let Skeeter sit on his knee!
At this point Hitch Diamond climbed out from under the airplane, stuck a handful of dirty cotton waste into the bag that contained the rest of the cotton, and tossed the bag into the lap of Skeeter.
“You two niggers put dis sack of cotton in the tool-box under de seat!” Hitch Diamond bellowed.
“I cain’t find de tool-box,” Vinegar said.
“Well, put it under yo’ foots den,” Hitch told him. “Fer you got to take dat sack of wipin’ cotton wharever you go.”
VII
THE SIGN OF AVIATORS
As the negroes had gone out toward the Little Moccasin Swamp, all of them had passed a buggy that was moving at the slowest gait of the horse. The driving lines were wrapped around the whip, the horse moved sedately and slowly down the middle of the road. On the seat of the buggy was a young man who seemed to be able to see nothing but the girl who sat beside him; and if any other man had been blind to the presence of that girl, it could have been said of him that he had no appreciation of feminine beauty and loveliness. As the buggy passed the long, straggling procession of negroes, there was one fact so striking that the man asked:
“What are all these people wearing chicken feathers in their hats for?”