Flournoy impressively opened the sheet, adjusted his eye-glasses with dignity, frowned portentously, knowing well that the negro was watching every move. Having thus impressed Isaiah with the importance of the article, Flournoy read aloud what he had written a few minutes before:
DANGER! DANGER!
ALL THE NEGROES IN TICKFALL ABOUT TO DIE!
A mysterious disease has broken out among the negroes in Tickfall, resulting in a number of sudden deaths. The doctors of the town declare there is no cure. The parish health-officer, Dr. Moseley, pronounces the disease to be “ancestors,” and declares that all the negroes have them——
There was a lot more of the same sort, and it was read aloud by Sheriff Flournoy with due impressiveness, and with the design of striking terror into the hearts of the negroes of Tickfall. When he had finished reading, this incorrigible practical joker asked seriously:
“Would you like to have a copy of this paper, Isaiah?”
“Yes, suh, boss! Gimme two copies!” Isaiah exclaimed as he sprang to his feet. “I’s gwine down an’ tell de niggers somepin dey don’t know!”
Snatching the papers from the sheriff, old Isaiah started toward Dirty-Six with surprising speed for a man of his age and feebleness. The first person he met was the Rev. Vinegar Atts.
“How come all dis bust of speed, Isaiah?” the fat preacher grumbled. “Whut’s itchin’ on you to trabbel so peart?”
Isaiah thrust the paper into the hands of Vinegar Atts.
“Read!” he chattered. “Read dat paper an’ git ready to die!”
The fat, pot-bellied, squat-legged preacher spraddled his feet in the middle of the road like a Colossus and began to read. Suddenly his hand trembled, his feet began to shuffle in the sand, and he breathed heavily and audibly, like an asthmatic donkey. When he had finished, his hands dropped inertly to his sides, and with wide-open mouth, he sucked in a breath which threatened to consume all the air in Tickfall.