Further E. K. Means / Is This a Title? It Is Not. It Is the Name of a Writer of Negro Stories, Who Has Made Himself So Completely the Writer of Negro Stories That This Third Book, Like the First and Second, Needs No Title

by E. K. Means

“Drap me at de Hen-Scratch,” Little Bit begged. “I ain’t got de cornstitution to ride no furder.”

Skeeter drove to Gaitskill’s home, lifted Org out of the machine and carried him to the porch. Org promptly stretched out flat on his back on the porch floor and called:

“Gince! Oh, Gince! Come here and help me! I’m dying!”

Coming in answer to his call, Miss Virginia’s face at first assumed an expression of fright at the sight of Org, then, glancing at Skeeter’s grinning mug, her uneasiness vanished.

“What have you been doing?” she asked Org.

“Smoking,” Org confessed. “Smoking a pipe!”

“Where is that pipe?”

Org thrust a trembling hand into the pocket of his coat and produced the briar-root.

“The idea!” Miss Virginia snapped, looking at the pipe with loathsome repugnance. “What else have you in your pockets? Let me see!”

Org turned the pockets of his trousers wrong side out and a number of strange and nameless things rolled out, things which could have value only in the eyes of a boy.