Then Vinegar Atts walked up and laid his hand on Skeeter’s shoulder.
“Looky here, Skeeter!” he bellowed. “All us niggers is losin’ our dollars on dis here game! I b’lieves dat dis game has been fixed!”
“’Tain’t so, Elder,” Skeeter denied tearfully. “I done bet fawty dollars on dis game, an’ I’s gwine lose eve’y cent of dat an’ ten dollars dat my gal bet!”
“Whut ails dis Tickfall team?” Vinegar wanted to know.
“Dem Sawtowners done got de hoodoo sign on ’em,” Skeeter explained. “I tried to bust de hoodoo when us wus at bat, but it cain’t be did.”
Vinegar shook his fat fist at the face of Butts.
“I tells you dis, solemn an’ specific, Skeeter: dese here cullud pussons is bet deir few money on yo’ recommend. Dey don’t figger on no hoodoo or no nothin’! Ef you done gone an’ fixed dis game, all I gotter say is, you better unhoodoo our team befo’ dis crowd of coons make up deir minds whut dey gwine do to you fer sellin’ us out to de Sawtowners!”
Vinegar Atts walked away with a majestic air, and Skeeter Butts sat down on the ground beside Coco Ferret, wiping the copious sweat from his face.
“O Lawd,” he prayed, “ef I only but had a jinx!”
“Whut am a jinx, Skeeter?” Coco inquired.