“The curse of drink,” says the lady soft-like.
“If you think I’m drunk now,” says Peewee, “you ought to shee me, when I’m right.”
“Yo’re both too drunk to act,” says Hank.
“Zasso? Who is? Me and Hozie? Say! Feller, I could play all the parts in yore show, includin’ the racehorsh, without any rehearshal—tha’s me. Go and git the horshes, Hozie, ’f yuh please.”
Peewee bowed to me, hit his head on the corner of the table, and wanted to fight Hank for hittin’ him when he wasn’t lookin’. Anyway, we got to town an hour before the show is due to commence. I got me a couple more drinks, which I didn’t actually need, and then they took me up into the hall. The back of that stage is full of actors and actresses, and I remember Judgment Jones shakin’ hands with me and God blessin’ me for helpin’ ’em out.
“The Sykes fambly never ignores a call for help,” I says. “Bring on yore crowd and lemme act.”
I ain’t never played in a show before, but I thought I had. That’s what jiggle juice will do for yuh. I kinda relaxed for a few moments, and when I realized things again, I finds Hank Boll-Weevil Potts and Zibe Hightower workin’ over me with somethin’ that smells a heap like turpentine.
“Keep yore eyes open, Hozie,” says Hank, “they might stick.”
Bein’ in a happy state of mind, I let ’em go ahead, not realizin’ that they was paintin’ me black as the ace of spades. It don’t hurt none, except kinda makin’ me stiff around the eyes. They left me in the chair and went about their business, and pretty soon I finds I ain’t got no shoes on, and my feet are so black they shine. And by that time my face is so stiff I can’t spit and I can’t blink my eyes. All I can do is stare at things.
“In the first act, yuh ain’t got to say a word,” says Hank, “except at the end, where you and Zibe walk out, you say to Susie, ‘God bless yore kind heart, Miss Eva.’ Can yuh remember that, Hozie?”