“Dat ain’t gwine do no good in dis case,” Hitch declared with conviction. “You mought as well pour dem advices back into de jug. Leasewise I cain’t figger out how it kin do any good. But ef you wants to try it, you do de prayin’ an’ lemme watch.”
“I’s mos’ too close to dis fire, Hitch,” Vinegar remarked uneasily. “I prefers to pray in de kitchen.”
“I’ll go wid you,” Hitch declared eagerly.
The two men entered the only other room to the log cabin, each blocking the other in his eagerness to be the first to get through the door. Diada promptly followed them, and the two men backed against the wall, looking in vain for some way of escape for Diada was between them and the door.
Hanging from the rafters in the kitchen were half a dozen strings of smoked sausages in skins.
Diada reached up and clawed down one of the strings and proceeded to eat the sausage raw. Like a child chewing a thread, she began at one end and lapped up link after link of the sausage. When that had been devoured, she snatched down another string and began on the end of that. Then she snapped off a link and offered it to Vinegar Atts.
“No’m; thank ’e, mum,” Vinegar said. “I likes to watch you chawin’ it. Fer Gawd’s sake, don’t nibble at dat sausage like dat—eat a plenty!”
Hitch Diamond pulled down two more strings of the sausage and handed them to her.
“Honey,” he said in wheedling tones, “don’t encourage no delicate appetite. Fill up—fill up! Wallop up dem sassages till you git whar you cain’t do nothin’ but chaw because yo’ swaller is full up to de top. Den, bless Gawd, dar won’t be no room in yo’ insides fer me!”
“Huh.” Vinegar Atts grunted, “I’d rather had a jackass chaw me dan dat baboon. Look at her toofs!”