“Don’t say nothin’ to nobody, honey!” Sugar cautioned with a smile as she drove away.
Skeeter sat down behind the bar with the satchel of money between his feet and tried to think. This last incident had nearly unsettled his reason.
After a long period of meditation he arose and tiptoed into the room where Pap Curtain lay and examined the prostrate man long and attentively. He shook him by the shoulder—not too hard. He kicked him—gently. Then he remarked with great satisfaction:
“He won’t wake up till mighty nigh dark. By dat time de fair will be over an’ Sugar will be gone away on de excussion, an’ I won’t know nothin’ a tall!”
When Skeeter entered the saloon again he found Hitch Diamond waiting for him.
“Skeeter,” he said with an air of dejection, “I foun’ dat nigger gal ridin’ ’roun’ town in a buggy, an’ she pronounce dat she ain’t gwine arm roun’ wid no kind of nigger excusin’ a high-yaller coon like you. She say she’s dead stuck on you, an’ she gimme de go-down.”
“Dat’s right, Hitch,” Skeeter replied complacently. “Dem arrangements I made wid you is all called down. Me an’ Miss Sugar is done made a trade.”
“Whar does I come in on de trade?”
“You comes in right now, Hitch,” Skeeter said affably. “I’s gwine pay you dat ten dollars you loant me.”
From the brown hand-satchel under the bar Skeeter counted out ten silver dollars and passed the money to his friend. Then he said: