“My Gawd, Shin!” Skeeter exclaimed with all the dramatic force of his nature. “Marse John says he ain’t had to hang no nigger sence he’s been a sheriff, but de law specifies dat de penalty fer stealin’ a baby is death!”
If Skeeter hoped to make a sensation, he did!
Whiffle Bone threw her arms around her husband’s neck and sobbed as if he were already dead.
Happy Rocket dropped upon her knees upon the barroom floor, raised her quivering hands in an attitude of prayer and sobbed:
“O mussiful Gawd! I’s a mean, wuthless nigger an’ I ain’t prepared to die!”
“Looky here, Skeeter!” Shin Bone howled in a desperate, frightened voice. “Didn’t you steal dem babies yo’ own se’f? How come you is got ’em wid you ef you didn’t steal ’em?”
“Naw, suh!” Skeeter Butts squealed. “I attached dem chillun in de name of de law an’ de sheriff an’ de Nunited States of Loozanny!”
Then Shin Bone broke down and howled:
“Gimme my baby! Me an’ Whiffle is gwine leave dis town till atter de gram-jury meets!”
“Take him!” Skeeter exclaimed. “I don’t want him—I’d druther hab a yeller-jacket under my shirt. Jes’ take yo’ brat an’ go!”