“Hello, Ticky,” Vakey said easily. “I got yo’ letter all right an’ I got here as quick as I could. Dat Gaitskill plantation looks good to me. I favors ownin’ it right now!”
“Hold on, cullud folks!” Tick begged. “Don’t shove me along so peart. You got to start me slow an’ gimme time. S’pose you-alls sets here a minute an’ converse yo’se’ves, an’ lemme go git Skeeter Butts.”
“Whut you need wid Skeeter?” Limit Lark inquired.
“Eh—uh—oh, Lawdy, I needs him bad—Skeeter’s pretty handy to hab aroun’. I needs him fer comp’ny—social puppuses—gosh!”
“Whut’s pesterin’ yo’ mind, Tick?” Vakey snapped. “You ain’t actin’ plum honest about somepin!”
“Yes’m—dat’s a fack—er—I speck I better git gwine!” Tick moaned.
“Not yit, Ticky!” Limit Lark said sharply. “I done walked pretty fur to dis place an’ I wants my permittune to marry you right now. Is you gwine hitch up wid me?”
“Honey,” Tick said desperately, “I don’t like to say nothin’ ’bout dat befo’ comp’ny—less git off alone by ourse’ves fust!”
“How’s dat?” Vakey snapped. “Whut you sayin’, Ticky? Is you figgerin’ on marryin’ dis here Limit nigger?”
“No’m,” Tick began, “I ain’t really especkin’ to——”