“Whut you say, nigger man?” Limit howled, laying a firm and competent hand upon Tick’s coat collar. “Talk straight, Ticky! An’ don’t you fergit dat I always totes a mighty hard fist fer social pupposes!”
She thrust a big clenched hand under Tick’s nose, and Tick whistled through his nostrils like a mustang smelling a bear.
“I totes a big gun fer social pupposes!” Vakey Vapp announced in a raucous voice as she thrust her right hand into the folds of her ragged dress.
Then Tick squalled and bolted. But he did not get very far. Limit and Vakey pooled their interests. They laid hold upon the struggling colored man, fought with him across the yard, and backed him up against the church, a terrified chunk of cringing flesh.
“Now, Ticky,” Vakey proclaimed as she flourished her big pistol before Tick’s frightened face, “me an’ Limit is gwine straighten you out flat. You cain’t fool no ole ginny-hens like us—so you better tell de Gawd’s truth.”
“Yes’m,” Tick stuttered.
“Did you write dis letter to me?” Vakey howled, shaking a soiled envelope under Tick’s nose.
“Yes’m,” Tick stuttered.
“Did you write dis here letter to me?” Limit whooped, waving another soiled envelope before his face.
“Yes’m,” Tick chattered.