Vinegar grinned, sat down at a little pine table in the middle of the room, spread his open hands upon the table, palms downward, just as he had done at the Shoofly church.
The two iron hooks fitted securely under the edge of the table, and were effectually concealed by his white cuffs. With the grip and the leverage thus secured, the gorilla arms and iron wrists of Vinegar Atts could have lifted a bale of cotton.
Vinegar quietly picked up the little table and grinning like a big fat monkey, pranced all around the room before the astounded, admiring eyes of Skeeter Butts.
Skeeter sat down and chuckled with delight.
“Vinegar,” he said, “I always figgered dat a preacher wus a nachel-bawn fool or he wouldn’t be a preacher. But atter dis I is gwine hand a tin prize to you fer brains!”
Vinegar could see no particular advantage in confessing that Colonel Tom Gaitskill and Captain Lemuel Manse had spent the entire morning of that day manufacturing Vinegar’s harness, and rehearsing him in the sensational stunt which he had pulled off at the Shoofly church.
“You won’t make no great big mistake ef you gib me two tin prizes fer brains,” Vinegar remarked complacently.
Skeeter clawed at his close-cropped head a moment, then asked another question:
“Elder, how did you make dat tin cup prance all over de top of dat table?”
Vinegar’s mouth was filled with chewing tobacco and his soul with peace. He ruminated a minute, grinning at the little barkeeper. When Skeeter began to show signs of impatience, Vinegar answered: