Thus admonished, Tick Hush took a big breath and a tidal wave of dictation splashed all around the head of Skeeter Butts.
“Say, ‘Will you marry me real soon?’ Say, ‘I got a job on Marse Tom Gaitskill’s pest-house farm.’ Say, ‘I’ll take you out to see de place.’ Say, ‘We lives togedder—plenty money, plenty eats. Answer prompt! Yours—yo’ husbunt—yo——’”
“Naw!” Skeeter interrupted. “You don’t want no answer through de mail-box—tell her to meet you somewhar to-morrer night, ef she is willin’ to take you on!”
“Dat’s right!” Tick agreed. Then he dictated: “Say, ‘Answer prompt. Ef you is willin’, meet me to-morrer night behime de Shoofly church under dat big sycamo’ tree. Yours truly Tick Hush.”
“Dat’s de way to talk it,” Skeeter applauded. “Ef you wants a hoe-cake, reach out yo’ hand fer it. Now wait a minute till I copy dis same letter, because we got to hab two.”
When Skeeter had made the copy, he addressed the two envelopes and slipped one message into each, being extremely careful not to get the letters mixed and put them in the wrong envelopes.
“Now, Skeeter,” Ticky asked, “who we gwine git to pick out dis letter?”
“Little Bit cain’t read nothin’,” Skeeter suggested.
“Let him pick,” Tick agreed.
In answer to Skeeter’s call, a diminutive, bullet-headed boy came from the rear room and picked up a white envelope.