Skeeter lighted a cigarette and began to ponder.
Give Skeeter Butts the number two, and his active brain could always make four or forty-four by the simple process of multiplying. From the little Tick Hush had said, Skeeter multiplied and got this result: Gaitskill and Lanark had selected Button Hook as a suitable wife for Tick Hush; the white folks would be greatly disappointed if Tick did not marry her; any man who helped Tick get married to the woman of their choice would be in good favor with those two influential white men.
Reasoning thus, Skeeter determined to invent a plan which would insure a hasty marriage between Tick and Button, and he resolved at the same time to be the best man at their wedding. Most people, facing this situation, would have told Tick to go to Button Hook and ask her to marry him, pressing his suit with ardor, eloquence, and affection until the lady consented. But Skeeter never could think of the obvious thing.
There was a long silence in the Hen-Scratch saloon, interrupted only by the scratching of matches and the jiggering of feet.
At length Skeeter stood up with a loud laugh.
“Gee,” he howled. “My brains shore is actin’ like gourd-seeds to-day—I wonder how I never thunk of dat at fust!”
“Don’t bust no jokes on me, Skeeter,” Tick warned him. “Dis here is solemn bizzness, an’ de white folks don’t take no nigger foolishness.”
“Listen, Tick!” Skeeter commanded. “Whut you needs is a few lessons in coteship an’ marriage.”
“Dat’s a fack,” Tick agreed. “I needs a shawt cut-off.”
“Dar’s a actor-woman in dis town named Dazzle Zenor. She plays love parts in shows. I acted wid her once—we wus stunt-dancers fer de Nigger Uplift dat time I got shotted accidental.”