“I shouldn’t had walked through dem high weeds comin’ up here—I bet dar is a snake in dem weeds as long as a railroad track!”
Thus, in one minute, Figger Bush had reduced himself to a hopeless imbecile. The other two looked upon him with pity and compassion, trembling at the dire portent of their own dreams and entering into full fellowship of sympathy with Figger. They sat for a few minutes in silence, then Skeeter Butts announced:
“I reckin I better mosey back to de Hen-Scratch.”
“Us is gwine wid you, Skeeter,” the other two announced promptly. “We is all sons of sorrer, an’ we oughter stick togedder.”
At the Hen-Scratch saloon they found Hitch Diamond, Prince Total, and Pap Curtain.
“Whut ails you-alls?” Hitch inquired curiously as he gazed into the frightened faces of his three friends. “You niggers look like you is jes’ foun’ out you wus borned to die!”
“Dat’s a fack, Hitch,” Skeeter sighed, as he and his two companions seated themselves on a bench. “Us is all had bad dreams.”
“I had a dream las’ night,” Hitch announced in his deep, rumbling bass. “I dreamed I runned a donkey down an’ tied him to a tree, an’ he brayed all night. Dat dream woked me up an’ I like to never got to sleep no more.”
“Does you know whut dat dream means?” Skeeter asked.