“Doc Moseley specify dat Tick is got scrambaloodums, an’ it’s powerful ketchin’. Is you touched Ticky any time recent?”
“O Lawd yes!” Vakey screamed. “I rush-housed him powerful bad at de Shoofly chu’ch de yuther night!”
“I’s mighty sorry to hear you speak dem words, Vakey,” Skeeter said with a tearful tremolo in his voice. “You’ll kotch de scrambaloodums, too. We’ll come back an’ take you to de pest-house next!”
Skeeter shut the ambulance door and ostentatiously draped the yellow flag over the knob.
“You fergot to deliver yo’ dyin’ message, Vakey,” Skeeter reminded her.
“’Tain’t nothin’,” Vakey howled. “O my lawdymussy!”
“All right,” Skeeter said. “You kin speak yo’ dyin’ words when we takes you out to de pest-house whar Tick is gwine!”
Vakey gave another loud squall and started across the fields toward the woods, going at full speed, and covering a long distance in a very brief time.
“She’ll be mighty fur away pretty soon—ef she keeps up dat gait,” the Reverend Vinegar Atts chuckled. “Dat’s jes’ de way de niggers runned from de pest-house thirty years ago!”
Skeeter clucked to his mules and started off at a brisk trot, leaving the three other stretcher bearers in the middle of the road, looking at the cloud of dust the team raised.