“Whut else do he oughter hab?”
“He oughter hab de gift of power!” Vinegar roared in a mighty voice. “Does you’all believe dat?”
“Sho’ly!” the men murmured.
“Now, brudders,” Vinegar went on, “I built dis here church wid my own hands; I begged de money from de white folks to buy de timber whut went in it; I sawed de wood whut made de pulpit an’ de benches, an’ eve’y block of wood in dis church knows my hands an’ obeys my voice. I got de gift of power!”
He paused. The men looked at the pine table with shifty, frightened eyes.
“When I puts my wide open hand on a piece of furniture in dis church, it gits up an’ rambles!” Vinegar bellowed. “De spirits of de onseen worl’ tells dem furniture to git up an’ hustle! Kin de Revun Tucky Chew Sipe say de same as me?”
Tucky Sipe stared at Atts with the expression of a glass-eyed doll; he fingered a mangy rabbit foot in his left hip pocket; he licked his parched lips with a dry tongue; but he offered no reply.
“When I puts my hands down on dis table, I got de gift of power to make her move!” Vinegar bawled. “Even de tin cups goes ramblin’ aroun’ when dey hears my hawn!”
He glared around him, his hands clenched, his powerful neck bent, his head lowered as if about to butt—giving a ludicrous imitation of an angry bull getting ready to make a charge. He walked over to where Tucky Chew Sipe was sitting, and shook an impressive finger before that gentleman’s long nose:
“I gib you fair warnin’ right now, Tucky Chew Sipe, dat de very fust sermont whut you preaches in dis church will be yo’ last—I’ll walk up to de side of dis church and put my hands agin de outside wall, an’ move dis whole house plum over to de State of Arkansas!”