“I axed Button to marry me,” Tick panted. “I ain’t come away from no place as fast sence dat bear chased me through de swamp las’ year.”
“Did she take on much?” Skeeter snickered.
“Naw,” Tick growled. “Her ole pap chased me wid a shotgun. I loped plum’ acrost deir chicken-yard wid a winder sash hung aroun’ my neck like a dawg-collar.”
Skeeter bean to laugh.
“’Tain’t no use to cackle, Skeeter,” Tick exclaimed. “I’s gwine up to Marse Tom Gaitskill’s an’ tell him dat I won’t take charge of dat pest-house plantation at no price. I ain’t gwine be pestered to death messin’ wid mattermony no longer.”
“Dat’s too bad,” Skeeter said.
Then he stopped with mouth agape.
The door of the saloon opened, and Button Hook was standing in the room.
Her afterthought had been better than her forethought. She had considered Tick’s offer of marriage as soon as her father had chased him off the place, and had decided to take it. So now, she was hunting for her fugitive lover to entice him to renew his suit.
“Fer Heaven’s sake, Ticky,” she began, “whut made you run off so soon?”