“Huh,” Skeeter grunted. “You ack like a little nigger cub is wuth a millyum dollars!”
“Go git him!” Hopey howled.
“I don’t know whar he am!” Skeeter retorted. “Shin Bone swiped him!”
“You nachel-bawn, ignernunt fool!” Hopey screamed. “Shin ain’t run off nowheres! I passed de restaurant jes’ now an’ he wus settin’ in dar by hisse’f singin’ religium toons! Go git Ready!”
Skeeter shot out of the door and ran across the yard, but before he reached the street, Hopey bawled atter him:
“When dis nigger woman comes outen her fit, I’s gwine tell her all about dat plan you fixed up to make Shin steal her darlin’ chile—an’ she’ll pull yo’ hind leg off an’ beat yo’ brains out wid it!”
At the nearest corner Skeeter came to a quick stop.
“Ef Shin Bone is settin’ in his eatin’ house drunk an’ singin’ religium toons, it’s a shore sign he’d shoot me in a minute ef I tried to git dat Ready Rocket.”
He snatched off his hat, clawed at his thinly cropped hair, and sighed like the exhaust of a steamboat.
“Ain’t I in a awful mess?” he panted. “I done twisted an’ turned myse’f till I’s too crooked to walk through a tunnel—when I die dey’ll hab to bury me in a round hat box!”