This sounded perfectly plausible to Skeeter’s two white friends who did not have the least hint of the mess he had mixed down in the negro settlement.
“You’d better go to bed, Skeeter,” Flournoy said kindly. “I’ve seen niggers pull many different stunts in my life, but you are the only darky I ever saw all in a dead faint.”
“I been feelin’ kinder faint an’ feeble fer a good while,” Skeeter moaned.
“I’ll give you some pills to take, Skeeter,” Mrs. Flournoy said. “Go to your cabin, and if you are not better in the morning we’ll have the doctor.”
Skeeter turned to her pleadingly.
“Whut is I gwine do wid dem two nigger babies?” he asked. “I bet deir maws is bellerin’ fer ’em right now like cows callin’ fer deir calves.”
“Do you feel strong enough to drive my little runabout, Skeeter?” Flournoy asked. “You can take the babies home in that.”
“Yes, suh,” Skeeter exclaimed eagerly. “I’s strong enough to run it an’ de fresh air will do me good.”
Flournoy pushed out the little machine, helped Skeeter arrange the children so they would not tumble out, cranked the car for the “sick” negro, and for the second time that night the sheriff’s little runabout started for Dirty-Six.
In the meantime things had been happening in that negro settlement. The grapevine telephone carried the news that Shin Bone had stolen Happy Rocket’s baby. A little later the message ran along the same mysterious channel that Happy Rocket had stolen Shin Bone’s baby. Then the startling information came that some party or parties unknown had stolen Shin Bone’s baby out of Happy Rocket’s cabin.