“Naw!” Skeeter howled. “You’ll git yo’ money’s wuth. Lemme take yo’ place an’ show you how it is did!”
“You needn’t apply, Skeeter,” Dazzle grinned. “I’s givin’ dese here lessons. I’ll let Tick set on de bench an’ I’ll show him how it oughter be did. Set down, Tick!”
Tick sat down on the bench with about as much eagerness as a condemned man takes his seat in the electric chair. And he waited for what was to happen with about the same feeling that a man awaits the electric shock.
“Here’s de way to do de kissin’ ack,” Dazzle exclaimed in her best stage voice.
She swept forward in her best stage manner and threw her eager arms around—empty air.
Tick bolted.
Skeeter Butts grabbed a tree, laid his head back between his shoulder blades, opened his mouth to its fullest extent, and laughed like a fool.
Tick got a Cherokee rosebush between himself and the histrionic beauty and took a lesson in watchful waiting.
“Ketch him, Dazzle,” Skeeter screamed. “Ketch him—O my Lawd!”
His voice trailed off in demoniacal whoops of laughter like a wind-broken calliope, and Dazzle sat down with an astonishment which left her perfectly helpless.