“You had better think up a powerful good lie,” Little Bit quavered. “My mammy, she kin ketch on powerful easy to tales.”
“Tell her that you cut your face—er—shaving!” Org replied, uttering the last word with triumphant emphasis.
“Dat shows you don’t know nothin’ about niggers,” Little Bit scoffed. “Most niggers ain’t got no hair on deir face an’ don’t never hab to shave. A nigger whut kin grow a moustacher an’ whiskers—he’s proud of hisse’f!”
“Aw, shucks,” Org said in disgust. “That ruins our perfectly good excuse.”
“My face don’t look like it’s been cut with a razor,” Little Bit said obstinately. “It looks like it’s been sawed acrost wid a lot of blackberry briars, dat’s whut.”
“I know it does, but you’ve got to tell some kind of tale to keep us from being found out,” Org said impatiently.
“We don’t hab to tell nothin’,” Little Bit sighed. “Dat bridge will say a plum’ plenty. It’ll preach a whole sermont.”
“Don’t you say nothing about that bridge,” Org howled. “Keep your mouth shut.”
“’Spose de white folks axes me?”
“Tell ’em you don’t know anything.”