He bounced through the swinging doors of the Hen-Scratch saloon and found his establishment crowded with negroes demanding back the money they had bet.
“All bets is declared off, niggers!” Skeeter panted.
He sank weakly into a chair, wiped the sweat from his face with a trembling hand, fanned himself with his hat for a moment, then made another announcement:
“All my weddin’ arrangements is declared off, too, niggers!”
“How come?” the Rev. Vinegar Atts demanded, saddened by the loss of a wedding fee.
Skeeter panted for breath, and finally explained:
“Dat female mascop is done jinxed me!”