“Dis book tells whut dat dream signify,” Skeeter explained, as he opened the volume and turned to the proper page. “I reads dis about tubs: ‘Ef it be filled wid water, you hab evil to fear; an empty tub signify trouble; an’ to run against one, sorrow.’”
“Lawdymussy!” Vinegar bawled.
With a convulsive movement of his body, he kicked the chair from under his feet, hurled the chairs from under his arms, and upset himself falling over on his back with his feet in the air like an overturned bug.
He jumped up, breathing like a foundered horse.
“Fear, trouble, an’ sorrer!” he bellowed. “I knowed it! I knowed it wus comin’ on all de time!”
He sat down, folded his hands, and gazed around him, his mouth hanging open like the jaws of a bull alligator.
“Here I is, Luck!” he mourned. “Jes’ come right along, throw me down, an’ set on my head, den gimme a dose of bumpo-calomel an’ lemme die! O Lawdy, dat dose of dreams is shore heavy on dis nigger’s stomick!”
“Dat’s pretty servigerous, Vinegar,” Skeeter said mournfully, “but you oughter hear whut dis book prophesy ’bout me!”
“Go ’way, little yeller nigger!” Vinegar exclaimed with a flapping motion of his hand toward Skeeter. “Don’t tell me nothin’ ’bout yo’se’f! Ain’t I got all I kin stan’ right now? Look at me—I’s skeart already; I’s got plenty trouble right dis minute; an’ as fer sorrer—I’s shore sorry you ever fetch yo’ ole yeller mug up on dis hill whar I sets!”
“Whut you gwine do, Elder?” Skeeter inquired in a voice which quavered with fear.