“You better git a hustle on you in yo’ las days,” Skeeter informed him. “De good Lawd ain’t got no use fer lazy folks.”
“Us better all git gooder dan we is,” Vinegar Atts said positively. “I been tellin’ dese Tickfall niggers eve’y Sunday ’bout deir devilmint, but ’tain’t done ’em no good. Now it’s plum’ too late!”
“Naw, Revun, ’tain’t too late,” Skeeter Butts said earnestly. “I b’lieve us’ll all listen to religium advices right now. Don’t gib us up—keep on tryin’!”
“Would you wish to he’p me refawm dese niggers?” Atts asked.
“Suttinly,” Skeeter said eagerly. “Ef dey don’t refawm, I’ll shoot daylights through ’em—I—I mean I’ll be powerful sorry for ’em.”
Skeeter took a big breath, sighed audibly, and wiped the cold sweat from his temples.
“Will you he’p in dis refawm, Hitch?” Vinegar inquired.
“Shore will!” Hitch informed him. “I’ll begin on de fust nigger you p’ints out to me. Jes’ one religium roun’ will be all Hitchie wants—I’s de real K. O. con of dis town.”
“Dat ain’t de right kind of talk to use, Hitch,” Vinegar said reprovingly. “You better learn some church-word talk befo’ you starts out on dis refawm.”
“Dem niggers will git my drift,” Hitch declared with conviction.