Sometimes there comes out of the swamp into Tickfall a negro so simple that his life has consisted of eating, sleeping, and working. Having lived far from civilization, his innocence and ignorance are amazing. He is a joy to the planter, for he works hard and does just as he is told to do. Coming into contact with the negro social life of Tickfall, he is also a joy to his colored friends—he contributes so largely to the funny side of life.
Skeeter knew that Tick Hush was sure to contribute much to the gaiety of the negro inhabitants of Tickfall, and he had already tipped off his friends to be ready to help him when he needed them.
So Tick waited at the church, peering across the yard in the dim light of a young moon, feeling more nervous and panicky as the moments passed, repeating with dry lips the instructions of Skeeter Butts:
“Ax her did she git de letter—ax her to marry me—grab her!”
Then a sudden weakness overcame him and he sat down upon the ground so forcibly that he nearly jarred his head loose from the rest of his anatomy.
“Gosh!” he murmured.
A woman dressed in white had moved quickly across the churchyard and had seated herself upon the bench under the sycamore tree. Tick experienced about the same sensation that might come to a war spy backed up against a church wall and facing a firing squad. Tick knew he was facing his fate.
“I guess I’m got to make de riffle,” he sighed as he started slowly across the churchyard.
The woman saw him and stood up.
“Hello, Limit!” Tick began. “Did you git my letter?”