Having accomplished their mission, the committee then sat down and became sociable over Skeeter’s cigarettes. When they had smoked for a while Skeeter suddenly asked:
“Revun Atts, whut is de lates’ news from de epizootic?”
“I ain’t heerd nothin’,” Atts replied. “Of co’se, I ain’t gwine aroun’ beggin’ fer de pest-wagon by axin’ de white folks no fool questions!”
“Whut do de papers say?” Skeeter persisted.
“Dunno.”
“I bet you some of dem papers is got a heap mo’ in ’em ’bout de disease dan de papers us niggers got to read,” Figger Bush proclaimed.
“Huh!” Vinegar Atts exclaimed. “I never thunk of dat! Of co’se, de white folks ain’t gwine print all de news fer a nigger.”
“Dey don’t divide up nothin’ else even,” Hitch Diamond said. “I motions dat Skeeter Butts be ’p’inted a cormittee to visit all de white folks’ houses an’ colleck up deir old Tickfall Whoopses so us kin git de lates’ news.”
“I’ll do it,” Skeeter said uneasily; “but I ain’t gwine tell ’em whut I wants wid de papers. I’ll specify dat I wants ’em to cover some shelves in de Hen-Scratch.”
“Start soon in de mawnin’, Skeeter,” Atts admonished him. “We’ll meet you here at dinner-time an’ read up—mebbe all de niggers on de plantations is dead an’ us don’t know it. I’s seed a whole passel of buzzards sailin’ aroun’ to-day!”