“Limit kin wear a blind bridle till you git yo’ nachel-bawn color back, Ticky,” Skeeter snickered. “Good-by!”
The four stretcher bearers left the bride and groom and walked up the hill to where their mules were standing.
When Skeeter picked up his driving lines he broke into a loud cackle of laughter.
“Say, fellers,” he snickered. “Ain’t dat Tick Hush a funny nigger man? Ef you wus to set him in one of dese here revolvin’ chairs, he wouldn’t hab sense enough to turn aroun’.”
A Corner in Pickaninnies
A mocking-bird sang his delirious music unnoticed above the head of Skeeter Butts as he sat beneath a chinaberry tree trying to recover from the shock of the latest negro sensation in Tickfall—the separation of Shin Bone and his wife.
“Dey shore got through wid demselves powerful soon,” he muttered to himself as he lighted a fresh cigarette upon the stub of the old one. “Dey ain’t been married but ’bout three years, an’ deir baby tuck de prize at de baby show.”
He propped his chair back against the trunk of the tree, tipped his derby hat down upon the bridge of his nose, put his shoe-heels inside the front rungs of the chair, and puffed his smoke in deep meditation.
“Wonder how come dey busted up?” he mused aloud in a low tone. “I reckin it’s one of dese here do-mes-tic in-feli-city cases. Hush! Look at who’s drawin’ nigh!”