Now, Attalia is a prohibition town in a southern prohibition state. Yes, it is—and it isn't. When Sidney Wyeth left that house that afternoon, he had spent part of what he received for the book, for beer and whiskey. Moreover, he was told that more than seventy-five places on Audubon Avenue were engaged likewise, and in the city all—but that is a matter for conjecture!
Obviously, prohibition did not prohibit—but more of this later in the story.
That evening, while dining, he became acquainted with Ferguson and Thurman, who will, for a time, occupy a part in the development of this plot.
Ferguson was a preacher, but at this time—and for some time—had not preached. He admitted painting to be more profitable from a financial point of view. He complained, however, that if the "New Freedom" continued in power much longer at Washington, and with the way things "was a-goin'," he would have to give that up and go back to pickin' cotton.
"They ain' nothin' in preachin' no mo', that's a sho thing."
"I do not agree with you on that score," said Sidney; "for, from what I have learned already in regard to these parts, there must apparently be more money in preaching than anything else, judging from the number of preachers. And how fat they all appear!" Ferguson looked up quickly at this remark, and as quickly down at himself.
"I didn' get this flesh preachin', I assuah you," he retorted, with flushed face. And after a pause, he went on with some heat:
"But that's what don' sp'iled preachin'; too many lazy nigga's a-graftin offa de people!" But Ferguson, as Wyeth learned later, was something of a pessimist, and predicted all kinds of deplorable things. And it was at this moment that a dejected creature made his appearance. He was bald headed, bowlegged, but, notwithstanding these possible deficiencies in his make-up, aggressive. His name was Thurman, and, said he, between bites of sweet potato pie:
"Aw, nigga;—youah allus a-p'dictin'—som'thin' awful!—To—heah you tell it,—since the democrats—has got int' powah—cawse a buncha crazy nigga's—didn' know how t' vote—at dat aih convention in Chicawgo—the world is—liable to end tomorra'!"