Part 10

“Dat nigger actor gimme one good tip,” he murmured. “I’ll buy my gal a real nice present, and take it to her when I git ready to express my bizzness.”

He entered the drug-store timidly and leaned against a show-case.

“What you want, colored man?” the clerk asked.

“I wants a little gold fitten fer a cullud lady to wear on her,” Tick grinned diffidently.

“Everything in this show-case comes up to your specifications in one respect,” the clerk said flippantly. “There’s mighty little gold about the stuff. What do you fancy?”

“Dunno, suh. I wants a view from you on dat.”

“I’ve got it,” the clerk said, as he lifted out a piece of jewelry and held it up for inspection. “A wrist watch--just the thing--all the women wear them and every woman is crazy about them.”

“How much do dat’n cost?” Tick inquired.

“Four-ninety-eight--let you have it for five dollars, cash!” the clerk responded.

“Thank ’e, suh. Dat’s about de size of my little dab of money. Please wrop it up in a real nice box.”

The clerk polished the piece of jewelry, wrapped it neatly, and Tick started for the home of Button Hook with the package in his hip pocket.

Button lived on the edge of the negro settlement known as Hell’s Half-Acre, and Tick had no trouble learning whether or not she was at home, for he heard her voice, as high and as strident as the call of the katydid, singing a song which assured him:

* * * * *

“O love’s my meat, an’ love’s my drink, an’ love’s my daily fare--an’ Love an’ me walks han’ in han’ when I has a han’ to spare!”

* * * * *

Tick’s method of presenting her with the wristwatch was unique. He walked into the yard and knocked loudly upon the front door. Then he ran down to the street, laid his package in a conspicuous place on top of the gatepost, and hid behind a convenient stump upon the other side of the road to watch proceedings.

The girl came to the door and looked out. She spied the package and ran down after it. She unwrapped it, gave a squeal of delight, and ran back into the house.

“Dat made a fine hit!” Tick exclaimed, cutting a caper behind the stump.

He waited about ten minutes, then announced to himself:

“I reckin it’s ’bout time I wus gwine in an’ tellin’ her who sont her dat gift.”

He entered the yard and knocked loudly upon the door. Button Hook responded and Tick entered the house.

“Did you git a leetle somepin a while ago, Button?” he began.

“Naw,” the girl responded.

“Didn’t nobody leave you nothin’ on dat gatepost out dar?” Tick asked in a surprised tone.

“Naw!” the girl answered.

She sat before him quietly, a small, tan-colored woman, with small eyes, small hands, and features as dull and expressionless as the face of a rag doll.

“My gosh,” Tick howled. “Whut become of dat leetle gold wrist-watch I lef’ on dat gatepost?”

“Did you leave one out dar?” Button asked innocently.

“Suttinly!” Tick said. “An’ you got it, too. I know, because I peeped at you from behime a stump.”

“Dat’s right!” Button snickered.

“Whar is it?” Tick demanded.

“It didn’t hab no name on it an’ maw claimed it wus her’n,” she told him.

“Huh,” Tick grunted in despair. “Dat wus fer you--it was my weddin’ present to you.”

“Yo’--which?” the girl inquired in a startled tone.

“Yes’m,” Tick plunged on. “You an’ me is gwine git married. It’s Marse Tom Gaitskill’s awders--de Kunnel, an’ Jedge Henry Lanark, an’ Skeeter Butts--dey all agrees dat it’s shore got to be.”

The girl took a breath of astonishment which threatened to consume all the air in the room.

“Marse Tom says we kin live on de pest-house plantation. Dem deaders buried aroun’ dar won’t gib us no ketchin’ disease. We got a good cabin an’ plenty to eat, an’ I’ll make plenty dollars.”

Then while Button Hook still gasped for air, Tick stood up. He assumed Dazzle Zenor’s best stage manner, and swept down upon Button Hook to give her an imitation of Dazzle Zenor’s best stage kiss.

And Button did just what Tick had done--she bolted.

She ran out of the room and left Tick to embrace the empty air.

“Huh!” Tick grunted. “Dazzle should had gib me anodder lesson so I would know whut to do now.”

The windows in the room were closed tight, and Tick felt extremely warm. He tramped the floor for a few minutes, then took off his coat and hung it across the back of a chair.

“I reckin I better make myse’f at home an’ wait till Buttons gits back,” he soliloquized. “I don’t know whut else to do. Mebbe she’ll come back some time to-day.”

In the rear of the house, Button’s father was lying asleep on a pallet on the porch. He was an old man with long woolly hair, and long cork-screw whiskers; his feet were bare, and his body was clothed with a pair of ragged pantaloons and a soiled, patched, yellowish undershirt.

“Wake up, pap,” Button panted when she ran out of the room where Tick had tried to kiss her. “I got somepin to tell you.”

“Whut’s dat?” her parent inquired, rubbing his hands over his face and head and rumpling his hair and whiskers into a frightful disorder. “Whut you want?”

“A nigger man named Tick Hush is asettin’ in de front room an’ he wants to borrer yo’ shotgun,” Button told him.

“Shore!” old Hook exclaimed. “I’ll loant Ticky de gun!”

He hastily lifted the gun down from two nails upon the kitchen wall, and in his frightful disarray, he went prancing into the front sitting-room. When he appeared in the doorway, Tick Hush looked up and beheld a barefooted, shirtless old man, with disheveled hair and beard, holding a double-barreled shotgun, and Tick had just made an unsuccessful attempt to kiss that old gentleman’s lovely daughter!

“My Gawd!” Tick howled. “Somebody is got to take my place right now--it’s vacant!”

He went through the nearest window without taking the trouble to raise the sash. There was a crash of glass, and Tick picked himself up from the ground where he had fallen, and broke the world’s record for a half-mile dash.

He staggered into the Hen-Scratch saloon in the last stages of exhaustion and sank down weakly upon a chair.

Skeeter came and looked the fugitive over. His clothes were torn and covered with dust, and his face and head were bleeding from half a dozen slight cuts.

“Is you hurted, Ticky?” Skeeter asked sympathetically.

“I axed Button to marry me,” Tick panted. “I ain’t come away from no place as fast sence dat bear chased me through de swamp las’ year.”

“Did she take on much?” Skeeter snickered.

“Naw,” Tick growled. “Her ole pap chased me wid a shotgun. I loped plum’ acrost deir chicken-yard wid a winder sash hung aroun’ my neck like a dawg-collar.”

Skeeter bean to laugh.

“’Tain’t no use to cackle, Skeeter,” Tick exclaimed. “I’s gwine up to Marse Tom Gaitskill’s an’ tell him dat I won’t take charge of dat pest-house plantation at no price. I ain’t gwine be pestered to death messin’ wid mattermony no longer.”

“Dat’s too bad,” Skeeter said.

Then he stopped with mouth agape.

The door of the saloon opened, and Button Hook was standing in the room.

Her afterthought had been better than her forethought. She had considered Tick’s offer of marriage as soon as her father had chased him off the place, and had decided to take it. So now, she was hunting for her fugitive lover to entice him to renew his suit.

“Fer Heaven’s sake, Ticky,” she began, “whut made you run off so soon?”

“I needed some place fer to git,” Ticky growled. “Dat ole varmint wus fixin’ to shoot me wid dat gun.”

“’Tain’t so!” Button exclaimed. “He jes’ wanted to cornverse you a little about de pest-house plantation--an’ you busted a whole winder outen our cabin.”

“I shore busted it,” Tick agreed. “I’s gwine bust one eve’y time a nigger wants to cornverse me wid a shotgun.”

“Dat wus jes’ a joke, Ticky,” Button smiled, patting him on the shirt-sleeve where a slight cut showed the red. “I was prankin’ wid you all de time. Maw didn’t had dat watch; I had it hid behime de big clock in de very room whar you wus settin’ at.”

Button dropped her left hand down Tick’s arm until it rested upon his wrist. Tick looked, and saw his wrist watch clasped around her small brown arm.

“Did you really mean whut you wus sayin’ in my house, Ticky?” she asked.

“Yes’m,” Tick replied.

“I’m wid you in dat offer, Ticky,” Button said easily. “I says--Yes!”

“Listen to dat word!” Skeeter Butts exploded. “De arrangements is all sottled up--you’s got her, Ticky!”

Tick looked like a man who had drawn a grand prize in the lottery.

“Honey, you shore is lifted a weight offen my mind,” he assured her.

“I’s gwine expeck you up at my house to-night, Ticky,” Button told him as she started out. “You lef’ yo’ coat hangin’ on a chair in de front settin’-room an’ you got to come an’ git it.”

A moment after she had passed out Skeeter exclaimed:

“Telephome Marse Tom Gaitskill, Ticky. Tell him to git out dem pair of cotehouse licenses befo’ de clerk’s office shuts up. Hurry!”

VIII

“WHAT’S IN A NAME?”

Colonel Tom Gaitskill left the bank and walked across the street to the office of the clerk of the Third District Court.

“I want a colored marriage license, Mack,” he remarked as he leaned against the desk and began the ceremonial process of lighting a big cigar.

The deputy clerk grinned and opened a big book.

“What’s the man’s name?” he asked.

“Tick Hush.”

“Who’s the lady of color?” the clerk inquired, as his pen scratched on the paper.

Gaitskill’s hand paused, holding a lighted match about two inches from the end of his cigar. He held it there until the flame scorched his fingers. He dropped the match and sucked the blisters, uttering sundry expletives as sulfurous as the head of the match. Then he gave himself up to thought.

“Let me see,” he said. “Do you know I forgot to ask that negro what woman he was going to marry?”

He struck another match and lighted his cigar. He puffed like a steamboat for a minute, and spoke again:

“I was talking to Tick last night and he mentioned two negro women, Limit and Vakey. Now I wonder which one he decided to marry?”

“Which is the best cook?” the clerk grinned.

“Limit Lark, I presume,” the Colonel answered. “Limit cooks for Judge Lanark--ah, that’s the one. I remember now, because Judge Lanark was sitting on the porch with me at the time and I heard him complain that he was about to lose his cook--make out the license for Tick Hush and Limit Lark!”

The clerk quickly completed the document, collected two dollars and fifty cents of the banker’s money, and handed over the long envelope.

“How many of these licenses have you bought in your life, Mr. Gaitskill?”

“Two barrels full,” Gaitskill chuckled. “It’s a good investment. Courthouse marriages, as the negroes call them, stick better, and the negroes seem to get along with less fuss.”

Slipping the envelope in his pocket, he walked out. When he reached his home about dark, he found Tick Hush sitting under a tree waiting for him.

“Did you git dem pair of marriage license, Marse Tom?” Tick asked eagerly.

“Here is the document,” Gaitskill said, handing it to the grinning negro.

Tick seized it with trembling fingers, opened it hastily, then glared at it with popping eyeballs.

“Lawdymussy, Marse Tom!” he exclaimed. “You done had dem license made out fer de wrong gal.”

“How’s that?”

“Yes, suh, dat’s suttingly a miscue, kunnel. Dis paper says dat I’s gwine marry Limit Lark, but de real gal is Button Hook!”

“Aw, shucks!” Gaitskill exclaimed disgustedly. “I couldn’t remember what the woman’s name was. I don’t think you ever mentioned Button Hook to me. Give that paper back. I’ll have it changed.”

“Will it cost some more money to git it changed, kunnel?”

“I suppose the clerk will charge about a dollar for his extra work,” Gaitskill said. “I think I’ll let you pay that dollar--you ought to have telephoned me the woman’s name.”

Gaitskill pocketed the license and entered his home. Tick went out on the street and sat down on the pavement curbing with his feet in the gutter.

“Marse Tom is shore messed up dis bizzness awful bad,” he sighed to himself. “Dat white man is chargin’ me a puffeckly good dollar because he made a miscue. Dat ain’t right.”

He thought the matter over for a while and then broke into a low chuckle.

“By gosh, I b’lieve I’ll try dat on.”

He hastened down the street to Skeeter Butts.

“Loant me five dollars, Skeeter!” he exclaimed earnestly. “Marse Tom is done made a mistake wid dat weddin’ paper an’ I wants to git it fixed up right soon. He says it’ll cost me a dollar.”

The name of Gaitskill worked the miracle of liberality in Skeeter, and he handed over the money without a word of protest.

“Now I’s done got financial agin,” Tick panted, as he stepped rapidly along the street.

Suddenly a tremendous idea struck his brain and shocked him to a standstill. He leaned weakly against a convenient fence and waited till he could recover. Then he began to laugh so loud that a number of pickaninnies trotted out of the cabins and came across to where they could observe him with closer scrutiny.

“I’s done thunk up de onliest good idear I’s had sence dis bizziness started,” he exclaimed to himself. “I’s gwine peg it down befo’ de wind blows it away.”

He went straight to the kitchen of Judge Henry Lanark, where Limit Lark was serving as cook. He held an earnest and satisfactory conversation with her for about five minutes, and then hurried to the home of Colonel Gaitskill. Gaitskill was sitting upon the front porch.

“Marse Tom,” Tick began eagerly, “is you had dem license changed yit?”

“No.”

“I’s glad of dat, kunnel,” Tick chuckled. “I don’t want ’em changed a-tall!”

“Why is that?”

“I done decided to marry Limit Lark, Marse Tom,” Tick explained. “I talked it up wid Limit an’ she agreed wid me.”

“I thought you loved Button Hook,” Gaitskill protested.

“I does love her pretty good, kunnel,” Tick snickered. “But I been thinkin’ it over, an’ you wus gwine charge me a dollar to change de names in dem license, an’ I figger dat dar ain’t a dollar’s wuth of diffunce between dem two nigger womens!”

Having made this arrangement by which he had secured a marriage license, the promise of a wife, the loan of five dollars which he never expected to repay, and the saving of one dollar of his funds, Tick sauntered away with a big chunk of tobacco in his cheek and a large gob of peace in his soul.

Which goes to show that Tick’s social education was progressing.

In the mean time, Button Hook was carefully cleaning up the room in her home for the entertainment of Tick Hush when he fulfilled his promise to call that night and make the final arrangements for their wedding.

In that same room, Button found Tick’s coat. He had not taken it with him when her father appeared with the shotgun.

With her first thought of wifely care, she picked up the coat, brushed it until it was free from dust, then gave it a hard shake.

Two letters fell to the floor.

Button stooped and picked them up. One was addressed to Miss Limit Lark, and the other to Miss Vakey Vapp.

Then, with true wifely curiosity, Button opened both letters and read them. Except for the superscription, they were exactly the same.

Almost every sentence was preceded by the word--“say.” Button could not understand that, for she did not know that Tick had dictated while Skeeter had written the letters, and Skeeter was not experienced in writing dictation.

Here is an absolutely accurate transcription of what Button read:

* * * * *

D one

say this thought come to Me to Address you of Helth this Letr im wel and i truste this wil find you Enjoin Life

say i aint so faraway i cant come & see you but dont thing Hord of me for Not coming i were call away i wil Be Back to Morrer Nite

say if you want to See Me i want to See You the yorse in the world but i Wil Weight ontil i Here from you

say i want to ef you have Made up yo mine at Marring i want to Before Ten Das i Got a Job at Moss Tm Gatskills farm wher the pess Hous is at say the farm is only 8 Mile from you it is a short Diston if you want to see it say if you want to come out Here and look at the Plase i wil take you say im fixt to go to Work Now say im runing the Pest Farm im Geting 15D a month

say B swete as you can B

say we wil Do fine when we ar working to Gether

say i am making all these Dols for you & i and Dont tel me Noh because i M Bisnes.

say i am Not Goin With No other one i Have my Hold Hart & mine on you & no other

say if you say Yess meat me at sickmore tre Behine the Shoefli ch to Morrer Nite say I am looking for you at the ch

say Dont lett me be DCd in you

yos T

Tick Hush

* * * * *

When Button had deciphered this communication she placed both letters back in their envelopes and hid them behind the clock. Then she removed the little brass wrist-watch which Tick had given her from her arm and placed that with the two letters.

After that she turned around and addressed aloud the chair upon which Tick’s coat had rested:

“I wonder whut pap done wid dat double-barrel shotgun of his’n?”

She threw Tick’s coat disdainfully upon the floor, and stamped it with her feet.

“I’s gwine vowlate de law!” she announced. “I’s gwine scramble de remainders of Tick Hush all over Tickfall. Ef dey gits enough of him to hold a funeral over, dey’ll have to mop de pieces up wid a rag!”

She walked back to the porch in the rear of the house, and lifted down the heavy muzzle-loading shotgun. She examined it carefully, muttering threats.

“Lemme think,” she mumbled. “I b’lieve pap said when you gits ready to shoot you cocks back bofe hammers an’ pulls bofe triggers!”

She stepped out into the yard, the gun resting upon her arm.

“Soon as it gits good dark, I’ll start,” she murmured. “I muss git him befo’ de moon rises!”

IX

TICK CELEBRATES

“I shore am feelin’ fine to-night,” Tick muttered, as he walked away from Gaitskill’s home. “I feels like a cel’bration of some kind. De fust notion whut comes acrost my head, I’ll back it.”

Feeling hungry, he wandered toward the Shin Bone eating-house, and there, near the entrance, he met Dazzle Zenor.

“How am de love case gittin’ on, Ticky?” she giggled.

“Eve’ything is done sot an’ settled,” Tick grinned back. “Dat piece of love lesson you gimme wus suttinly a plenty.”

“You oughter stayed through it all, honey,” Dazzle smiled. “I’d ’a’ learnt you how to flash de glad eye, how to hold yo’ gal’s hand, how to hug her so tight she’d holler fer her mammy, an’ how to bite yo’ name in her cheek.”

“I didn’t need dat many lessons,” Tick informed her.

“Rememberin’ dat you ain’t paid me nothin’ fer whut I did learn you, it seems nachel to me dat you oughter buy me somepin to eat,” Dazzle suggested.

“Dat’ll suit me,” Tick exclaimed. “I ain’t got de same five dollars whut you gib me back, but I got anodder five whut is jes’ as good.”

It did not occur to Tick until afterward that it is not wise to tell an actress how much money you have in your possession when you take her out to supper.

Dazzle revealed a perfectly amazing appetite for both food and drink. She wanted her food cooked in sundry unique and most expensive ways, and she wanted a mixture of drinks which were several times as expensive as any that Tick had ever had to pay for.

For two hours they sat at the table laughing and talking, and Dazzle found that she had merely to flatter Tick about his social accomplishments to get him to go the limit financially.

Finally Dazzle announced that she had to go, and refused to let Tick accompany her to her destination.

Left alone in the restaurant, Tick counted his change and found that less than fifty cents remained of the five dollars which Skeeter had lent him.

He left the restaurant, entered a nearby saloon, and invested some more of his money in drink. When he reappeared upon the street he possessed one silver dime and a jag.

“Huh,” he grunted, as he looked down at the battered dime. “I’s suttinly pretty well ’luminated up to now. Wonder how come I still got dis here little dime? I b’lieve I’ll buy a watermellyum.”

He entered the restaurant again, purchased a large melon, and staggered solemnly down the street, hugging it in his arms. He walked into a little grove of trees and sat down on the ground.

By this time his ideas were extremely vague.

He cut his watermelon in two halves, carving across the middle; he surveyed both ends with ludicrous gravity, cogitating deeply.

Then remembering that he had left his hat in the Shin Bone eating-house, he scooped all the red meat out of one end of his melon, and turned the empty rind over his head, fitting it on his skull like a cap! Thinking at the same time that he needed a chair, he scooped the red meat out of the other end of the melon, and sat down in that half of the empty rind. Having made himself comfortable, he proceeded with his meal!

“Hey!” he bawled to the world at large. “Dinner’s ready! Come an’ git it!”

The thunder roared, and a summer shower, driven before a strong Gulf breeze, swept over Tickfall. It was gone in five minutes, and the moon came out clear and bright, but the rain had drenched Tick Hush to the skin.

“It’s a good thing I fotch my hat out here wid me,” he mumbled, holding the watermelon rind on his head. “I mought ketch cold ef my head gits wet. Gotter take keer of myse’f--gwine git married.”

The cold water had a slightly sobering effect upon him, and he suddenly realized that he was without his coat.

“Dar now! I done lef’ dat coat at Button Hook’s house, an’ I done decided not to marrify Button. Dat’s bad luck! I’ll go ax Skeeter Butts ’bout dat!”

Still holding his watermelon-rind hat upon his wabbly head, he staggered slowly down the street, balancing himself carefully as he walked up the steps of the saloon and entered the swinging door.

Then he stumbled and threw out both hands to steady himself. His unique hat fell to the floor breaking into a hundred fragments, and splashing to all parts of the room. Tick gave a low moan of sorrow, stepped on a piece of the melon, slid about ten feet, and sat down upon the floor with a jolt which almost loosened his ears.

He got to his feet with difficulty, motioned mysteriously to Skeeter, and led the way to the room in the rear.

“Bad luck, Skeeter!” he growled. “I done messed my mattermony up agin.”

“Slop it out!” Skeeter snapped. “Whut you done now?”

“Button Hook is done promise to marry me, an’ Limit Lark is done promise to marry me, an’ Dazzle Zenor is done promise to marry me--leastwise, I think she done it. I cain’t remember real good.”

“Why cain’t you remember?” Skeeter snarled.

“I’s so full of booze my y-ears is stopped up an’ my back teeth is a-floatin’,” Tick explained.

“I know dat! Go on!”

“Whut griefs my mind is dis,” Tick went on. “I lef’ my coat wid dem two marrifyin’ letters in it down at Button’s house; Button is got my wrist-watch, an’ I ain’t gwine marry Button!”

“Aw, good gosh!” Skeeter exclaimed disgustedly.

“Whut is de most properest thing fer me to do nex’, Skeeter?” Tick inquired with alcoholic gravity.

“You better do like a mud-turtle do!” Skeeter snarled.

“How do a mud-turtle ack under dem succumstances?” Tick inquired.

“When a turtle gits in trouble, he puts his hands an’ foots in his pocket, takes a big breath, an’ swallers his head, den he rolls offen a log an’ stays under de water fer fawty days,” Skeeter informed him.

“Dat’s onpossible fer me to do, Skeeter,” Tick replied earnestly. “I’d git drowndead shore, an’ Marse Tom don’t want no harm to happen to me.”

“’Twouldn’t be no great big loss,” Skeeter snapped. “It ’pears to me like I could do widout you powerful easy.”

“De lady folks would miss me,” Tick said with a drunken grin.

“Git outen here, Tick, befo’ I git you put in jail,” Skeeter howled. “You is a noosunce.”

“Don’t go back on yo’ lodge brudder, Skeeter,” Tick begged. “Tell me whut to do to git outen my jam.”