"Trouble is, you can't tell young folks nothing. They've got to find out things for themselves."
Papa was quiet for a while. Then he said, "Nannie, I wasn't aiming to tell you, but I reckon I'd better."
"What, Jodie?"
"Our friend is in business now!"
"Where you reckon he got the money?"
"Beats me. You know, he's made a batch and hauled it off in the middle of the night."
By that, I knew Papa was telling Mama that Mister Goode or somebody had cooked a batch of ribbon cane syrup in the nighttime instead of the daytime. I never cared a thing about syrup, except when it was poured on a hot biscuit or batter-cakes, so I turned my face toward the wall and snuggled farther down under the covers.
"Ned told me, Nannie," Papa said. "That poor Negro is scared to death of Ward! He was sitting there on my store porch, shaking, when I got there this morning."
"What'd Ned say?"
"You remember this fellow Hicks that drove his automobile through here a while back?"