A loud sigh came from Vinegar’s throat.
The table slowly rose, teetered for a breathless moment, then fell to the floor with a loud bump. The lamp chimney tottered and fell upon the table, smashing into tiny fragments.
The negroes sprang to their feet in terror—all except Vinegar Atts. He remained with his hands upon the table, sitting as if in a trance.
The lamp wick flared, filling the room with smoke. After a moment Vinegar adjusted the wick, setting the lamp in the center of the table, moving the pint cup to one side as he did so.
Then he moved his chair back from the table and seated himself beside Skeeter Butts at the door.
For a short time no word was spoken. Then the men began to recover their nerve, and Pap Curtain resumed the discussion of their business:
“I figger dat enough has done been said, brudders,” he declared. “De lamp chimney is done busted an’ us ain’t gwine hab no light on dis subjeck very much longer. I motions dat—My Gawd, whut is dat?”
This last question was a scream, as Pap pointed with trembling fingers at the pint tin cup. It was moving slowly across the table!
The men watched its erratic movements with breathless fascination. It moved forward toward the edge, then backward toward the center of the table; then it moved slowly in a circle, and finally took a straight line and toppled off the edge of the table onto the floor!
Every negro jumped about two feet into the air, and bolted into the yard with a loud whoop.