“As de revun pastor of de Shoofly is you got a D.D. degree?” Green asked blandly.
“Got a—which?” Vinegar asked, showing the whites of his eyes.
“Is you ever took on a kawlidge-gate degree?” Green repeated.
“I done tuck ten degrees in de Nights of Darkness Lodge,” Vinegar replied. “I don’t need no mo’. De las’ one I tuck dey made me ballunce a raw egg on my bald head an’ a nigger hit it wid a paddle—ruint all my nice lodge clothes.”
“Aw, shuckins! I don’t mean dat,” Green snorted in disgust. “Ain’t you no Doctor of Dervinity? Don’t de white folks call you de Revun Dr. Vinegar Atts? Ain’t you no scholard like de Revun Dr. Sentelle an’ dem yuther white preachers?”
“Naw, suh,” Vinegar said regretfully. “Dis here pig ain’t got no curl to his tail like you mentions.”
“You had oughter git you a D.D.,” Green said with conviction.
“De Elder needs a couple of D’s,” Hitch Diamond rumbled, delighted with the idea.
“De Revun Dr. Vinegar Atts, D.D. of Dervinity, pasture of de Shoofly Mefdis Chu’ch, Tickfall, Loozanny,” Skeeter Butts vocalized, mouthing the words pompously. “Gosh! I’d gib a dollar to see de Elder dolled up like dat!”
“It’ll cost fifty dollars,” Green said quietly, looking at his wrist-watch as if he feared to miss an engagement. “I kin git one fer you fer dat many money.”