Vinegar’s face was glowing like a saint who had seen a heavenly vision.
“How come you is peddlin’ dem D.D.’s aroun’?” he asked.
“I travels wid de Revun Dr. Gilbo, pres’dent of de Silliway Female Institoot,” Green said easily. “Us come to town dis mawnin’ to intervoo some rich folks in dis town. Us don’t never run atter nobody’s money, but we makes it a p’int to go whar money is at, an’ we is powerful kind an’ high perlite to de fellers whut is got money.”
“Dat’s right,” Vinegar applauded.
“Now dis here Dr. Gilbo, he told me ef I could sell a couple of D.D.’s on dis trip to a couple deservin’ nigger peachers, he wouldn’t hab no objections. I got de papers wid me now.”
He reached into his breast pocket and brought forth a crackling sheet of parchment. The three Tickfall negroes had never seen a college diploma. Had they been able to read this one they might have been enlightened; but unfortunately for them it was written in Latin. Its mystery conferred upon it a vast importance.
Green Trapps indicated a blank space with his finger.
“All I’m got to do is to write yo’ name right dar, Revun,” he said. “Atter dat I collecks my money, passes dis here obscribe over to you, an’ de D.D. is did.”
“Sounds easy,” Vinegar said, his face aglow.
“Of co’se, niggers, dis here is white folks’ bizzness an’ us is got to speak it easy,” Green said as he rolled his parchment and replaced it in his coat pocket. “Dar ain’t many white kawlidges in dis worl’ whut D.D.’s niggers.”