That dress had evidently been, at one time, some young lady’s evening gown, and the glossy black of Lalla’s bare shoulders and arms in the glare of the noonday sun was not only startling—it was shocking. Short white kid gloves covered the damsel’s hands, which she kept folded in maidenly modesty across her breast.
Hitch held her by the arm with the air of a policeman conducting a prisoner to the lock-up, and when he surrendered her to Sour Sudds, Sour grabbed her elbow in the same official and authoritative manner.
“Dear-ly be-lub-bed!” Vinegar Atts bawled in a voice which could be heard a mile, and whining his words with a peculiar, sing-song intonation which no other people on earth can imitate:
“Dear-ly be-lub-bed, we am gathered togedder in de sight of Gawd an’ de ’socheation of dese witness to hitch togedder dis here man an’ dis here woman in de holy bonduce of mattermony, which am a powerful good thing but ain’t by nobody to be tuck up wid sudden-like, but atter prayerful study on de wharfore an’ de outcome. Ef ary one of you niggers knows a good cause why not dey should be married, bawl out right now, or forever—hol’—yo’—peace!”
Skeeter Butts moved uneasily, opened his mouth to speak, then muttered in a low tone:
“I s’pose dis is all a play-like, but it shore looks nachelly like de plum’ real thing to me!”
After an impressive pause, Vinegar continued, addressing his remarks to the principals:
“Ef ary one of you two niggers knows any jus’ an’ lawful an’ resomble cause whyfo’ you shouldn’t git married bawl it out right now, or else forever—hereinafter—hencefo’th—hol’—yo’—peace!”
No impediment being alleged, Vinegar Atts glared at Sour Sudds and howled:
“Sour, is you gwine take dis woman to be yo’ reg’lar cotehouse wife; is you gwine buy her vittles, chop her stove wood, pack her water, tote her washings to an’ fro from de white folks’ house, an’ excusin’ all yuther female womans, hang only onto her, so long as you bofe lives, so—he’p—you—Gawd, hope you may die?”