Part 9

The two sat down on the bench and waited.

The second woman came up confidently, jauntily.

She was a square-headed, woolly-haired, pout-lipped negro, with a short temper and a long tongue.

It was Vakey Vapp.

Tick Hush gazed at her in horror. Already he could hear himself squalling to Skeeter Butts to come and rescue him from the wrath of these two women.

“Hello, Ticky,” Vakey said easily. “I got yo’ letter all right an’ I got here as quick as I could. Dat Gaitskill plantation looks good to me. I favors ownin’ it right now!”

“Hold on, cullud folks!” Tick begged. “Don’t shove me along so peart. You got to start me slow an’ gimme time. S’pose you-alls sets here a minute an’ converse yo’se’ves, an’ lemme go git Skeeter Butts.”

“Whut you need wid Skeeter?” Limit Lark inquired.

“Eh--uh--oh, Lawdy, I needs him bad--Skeeter’s pretty handy to hab aroun’. I needs him fer comp’ny--social puppuses--gosh!”

“Whut’s pesterin’ yo’ mind, Tick?” Vakey snapped. “You ain’t actin’ plum honest about somepin!”

“Yes’m--dat’s a fack--er--I speck I better git gwine!” Tick moaned.

“Not yit, Ticky!” Limit Lark said sharply. “I done walked pretty fur to dis place an’ I wants my permittune to marry you right now. Is you gwine hitch up wid me?”

“Honey,” Tick said desperately, “I don’t like to say nothin’ ’bout dat befo’ comp’ny--less git off alone by ourse’ves fust!”

“How’s dat?” Vakey snapped. “Whut you sayin’, Ticky? Is you figgerin’ on marryin’ dis here Limit nigger?”

“No’m,” Tick began, “I ain’t really especkin’ to----”

“Whut you say, nigger man?” Limit howled, laying a firm and competent hand upon Tick’s coat collar. “Talk straight, Ticky! An’ don’t you fergit dat I always totes a mighty hard fist fer social pupposes!”

She thrust a big clenched hand under Tick’s nose, and Tick whistled through his nostrils like a mustang smelling a bear.

“I totes a big gun fer social pupposes!” Vakey Vapp announced in a raucous voice as she thrust her right hand into the folds of her ragged dress.

Then Tick squalled and bolted. But he did not get very far. Limit and Vakey pooled their interests. They laid hold upon the struggling colored man, fought with him across the yard, and backed him up against the church, a terrified chunk of cringing flesh.

“Now, Ticky,” Vakey proclaimed as she flourished her big pistol before Tick’s frightened face, “me an’ Limit is gwine straighten you out flat. You cain’t fool no ole ginny-hens like us--so you better tell de Gawd’s truth.”

“Yes’m,” Tick stuttered.

“Did you write dis letter to me?” Vakey howled, shaking a soiled envelope under Tick’s nose.

“Yes’m,” Tick stuttered.

“Did you write dis here letter to me?” Limit whooped, waving another soiled envelope before his face.

“Yes’m,” Tick chattered.

“How come?” the two whooped in irate tones.

Vakey’s right hand was waving a pistol with what seemed to Tick to be extreme carelessness. He was sure he was going to be killed, and he lifted his terrified eyes for one startled look at the white tombstones which stood in the graveyard beside the church.

Then the only inspiration he had ever had came to him in a flash.

“My Gawd!” he whooped, and his face and voice were certainly expressive of terror, an alarm he had been feeling for ten minutes. “My Gawd! Look over yander at that graveyard!”

The two women turned to look with startled suddenness.

It was quite an artful ruse for a slow wit like Tick Hush. He had not seen a thing, but as the women turned Tick took the first step in his getaway.

Then a fortuitous circumstance contributed to Tick’s escape.

Skeeter Butts had concealed himself on the far side of the churchyard near to the cemetery fence in order to command a large view of the locality near the sycamore tree where Tick was to meet the two women.

Skeeter was afraid of that graveyard. He did not like to lie down so near to it. For ten minutes the cold shivers had been chasing up and down his spine, and he earnestly desired to be anywhere but where he was.

As soon as he heard Tick’s horrified exclamation he felt like he must leave the vicinity of the burying-ground at once. He arose to depart, and thus it happened that it was Skeeter dressed in a ghostly white duck suit, that the two negro women saw!

Vakey Vapp raised the pistol which she kept for social purposes and fired five shots in rapid succession at Skeeter Butts. For the first time in his adventurous life Skeeter went through a graveyard at night alone!

Tick Hush went to Tickfall, running about one hundred yards in advance of the two women, and the trio made as much noise as a calliope played by a maniac with a hundred fingers!

IV

THE COLONEL ISSUES ORDERS

In every storm Tick Hush always anchored himself to a white man. So, on this occasion, he did not stop running until he stood gasping for breath on Colonel Tom Gaitskill’s lawn.

Tick heard voices coming from the porch, and he knew better than to rush precipitately into the presence of guests. He began to listen, and after a while he broke into a grin.

“Dem white men is feelin’ good. Dey’s jes’ explodin’ jokes to each yuther. I’s gwine bust in an’ explode my tale of trouble.”

He walked closer to the porch and stood where the pale moonlight fell upon him.

“Is dat Marse Tom Gaitskill’s voice I hears?” he asked in a timid tone.

“Yes. What is it?”

“Marse Tom, I’s in powerful deep trouble,” Tick sighed as he came up to the porch steps. “Yes, suh, trouble is done slopped my trough good.”

“Well--tell us about it,” Gaitskill said impatiently. “Spill it!”

“You tole me I had to git married, Marse Tom,” Tick began. “I fanciated two nigger womens pretty good, so I writ a letter to bofe of ’em an’ axed ’em to marry me. Bofe of ’em tuck me up on dat.”

“That ought to make you feel happy,” Gaitskill chuckled.

“Naw, suh, it worries me in my mind. You see, bofe dem niggers met me under a sycamo’ tree, an’ one of ’em bragged her brags dat she toted a pistol reg’lar, an’ dey backed me up ag’in’ de chu’ch to pussuade me, an’--an’ a ha’nt come outen de graveyard----”

Tick stopped and chuckled.

“That ha’nt shore done me a good favor. I’d ’a’ been a ha’nt myse’f by now ef he hadn’t showed up so handy.”

“What did you do?” Gaitskill laughed.

“I lef’ dem two nigger womens wid him,” Tick snickered. “Dat ha’nt never could ’a’ kep’ up wid me--he didn’t had no use fer me nohow--an’ I didn’t need him--so I let de lady folks hab him all to deirse’ves.”

“You’ve heard this negro’s testimony, judge. What’s your verdict?” Gaitskill asked smilingly of Judge Henry Lanark, who sat beside him on the porch.

“Thank the Lord, I’m no lunacy jury,” Lanark laughed. Then he asked: “Was one of those women named Limit, Tick?”

“Yes, suh.”

“I have a little corroborating testimony to offer,” Judge Lanark remarked to Gaitskill. “I got a letter in my post-office box to-day addressed to Limit Lark, my cook. I presume Tick picked her for matrimonial honors.”

“Yes, suh, dat’s her,” Tick chuckled.

“What do you want me to do about it, Tick?” Gaitskill asked.

“I dunno, Marse Tom. I jes’ come to git a view from you ’bout dat.”

“What do you think those two women will do to you?” Gaitskill queried.

“Kill me dead,” Tick answered simply.

“In that case, I presume you do not care to consider a matrimonial alliance with either,” Gaitskill grinned.

“Naw, suh, nothin’ like dat.”

“What do you think those two women will do to each other when they compare the contents of those two letters?” Gaitskill asked next.

“Gawd knows,” Tick sighed.

“It would be wise to recover those letters, if possible,” Judge Lanark suggested.

“I kin git ’em all right,” Tick said. “Bofe letters is layin’ on de groun’ close to de Shoofly chu’ch whar dey dropped ’em down when dey seed de ha’nt.”

“Go get them at once!” Lanark commanded.

“I’ll git ’em in de mawnin’, jedge,” Tick replied. “Nobody ain’t gwine pick ’em up to-night--not no niggers--dey ain’t!”

“Isn’t there some other woman you could fall in love with?” Gaitskill wanted to know.

“I ’speck so, boss.”

“I advise you to choose a third party and marry her,” Gaitskill said.

“I’s kinder squeamish ’bout dat, kunnel,” Tick said earnestly. “You see, dis am de fustest time I is ever messed wid mattermony, an’ I ain’t real shore of my foot-holt.”

“You have messed it pretty well, so far,” Gaitskill laughed. “Of course, if you don’t want to marry, I think I can find some other man to put on my plantation as tenant----”

“Naw, suh, kunnel,” Tick interrupted with emphasis. “I’s gwine git dat job ef I’s got to mess up wid all de mattermony ladies in dis town. I needs dat job.”

“Go as far as you like,” Gaitskill smiled. “You can’t make me mad. If you get into trouble I’ll help you all I can, and I am sure the judge will give you the benefit of his legal knowledge and experience.”

“Will you-alls really he’p me, Marse Tom?” Tick asked eagerly.

Gaitskill did not know that his jesting words were being taken seriously. So his answer to Tick’s eager question was unfortunate. It had the effect of turning Tick loose on the community, feeling that he could do anything with impunity because the colonel and the judge were with him.

“Certainly,” Gaitskill said. “We’ll be glad to help you.”

“Could you begin he’pin’ by loantin’ me five dollars?” Tick asked diffidently.

“Give it to him!” Lanark exploded. “War munitions--campaign expenses!”

Tick turned away with the money in his pocket and exultation in his heart. With two great men to back his enterprises, he was sure he could accomplish great things. Whatever the risks, he would be perfectly safe. Even if he got into jail, the judge would help him out again.

“I’ll mess wid mattermony, all right!” he chuckled. “It’s de kunnel’s awders!”

V

SKEETER HELPS SOME MORE

Early the next morning Tick Hush appeared at the Hen-Scratch saloon and found Skeeter Butts nursing a grouch and sundry bruises, all of which he had received in his wild flight through the graveyard.

“Whut you showin’ up here fer?” Skeeter snarled.

“Troubles,” Tick told him.

“I’m got ’em of my own,” Skeeter snapped. “Don’t pesticate me.”

“You’s de only good-advicin’ nigger in Tickfall, Skeeter,” Tick said earnestly. “Ef a feller cain’t ax you ’terrogations, he mought as well go out an’ suicide hisse’f!”

“Ain’t it de trufe!” Skeeter grinned, greatly mollified by this praise. “Whut ails you now?”

“I had a leetle talk wid Limit an’ Vakey las’ night, an’ I done decided to cut ’em bofe out. Dey argufies pretty sharp yistiddy evenin’. One of ’em applied at me wid a big gun--I don’t favor dat kind of nigger.”

“Ef you is done got dat wise, you don’t need no more advices,” Skeeter grinned. “Eve’y nigger woman argufies wid guns an’ razors an’ skillets, an’ truck like dat. Of co’se, ef you cuts all dat out, dat means you ain’t gwine hitch double wid nobody.”

“But I got to marry!” Tick exclaimed. “Marse Tom specify----”

“All right!” Skeeter interrupted tartly. “Who am de choosen woman now?”

“Well, suh, I cogitate dat Button Hook is de right kind of meekified woman fer me to take on,” Tick declared. “Button is kinder sweet an’ soft-spoke.”

“I fell in love wid a woman like dat wunst,” Skeeter grinned. “Us wus about to git married. I axed her whut she done fer a livin’ so she could suppote me like I wus raised--an’ she said she an’ her pap kotch snakes in de swamp an’ sold ’em to show folks in a circus. De nex’ time I seed her she had a lapful of rattlesnakes--dat wus de last time I looked at her, too!”

“My Lawd!” Tick murmured.

“You cain’t tell nothin’ ’bout pickin’ ’em,” Skeeter continued. “Dey’s2 wuss’n race-hosses. You bet yo’ money an’ you lose it on a hoss; you bet yo’ money an’ you lose it on a woman; an’ on top of dat you is wished yo’se’f a live job, losin’ money all de time.”

“Now, ’bout dis Button Hook--” Tick began.

“Suttinly,” Skeeter Butts interrupted. “She’ll throw de hook inter you all right. You go nibblin’ aroun’ dat hook an’ you’s already a sucker on a string--powerful soon you’ll be crackin’ an’ fryin’ in a skillet. Suttinly--go ahead! Whut wus you gwine to say?”

“I wus fixin’ to remark dat she comes in pretty handy right now. Dat’s my onlies’ chance. Marse Tom specify fer me to seleck a third party. De kunnel an’ Judge Lanark gib me a few advices las’ night, an’ bofe dem white mens said dey would stan’ by me.”

Skeeter sat up with a sudden and great interest.

“Why’n’t you tell me dat Kunnel Gaitskill an’ Jedge Lanark wus backin’ you in dis race? Dat makes it plum diffunt. I jines in wid de white folks, too.”

“Dat happifies me consid’able, Skeeter,” Tick exclaimed with a wide grin. “Whut is our fust move-up?”

“We mought write a letter to Button----”

“Naw!” Tick exploded. “Jedge Lanark say dat govermint wus agin love letters--dey gits you in trouble wid de cotehouse. Dem two niggers drapped dem letters on de groun’ las’ night, an’ I foun’ ’em close to de Shoofly chu’ch dis mawnin’. I got ’em in de inside coat-pocket right now, next to my heart.”

“Gib ’em to me--” Skeeter said eagerly.

“Naw, suh. I’ll tote ’em in my own coat-pocket,” Tick snarled. “I let you keep one yistiddy an’ it got away from you! Go on wid dem Button advices!”

“You mought send Button a box of candy, den wait a day or two an’ go out dar an’ talk sweet----”

“’Twon’t do, Skeeter. Candy costs money; excusin’ dat, I got to hurry along wid dis mattermony--I needs somepin hasty.”

“Run in dar some night an’ kidnap her up!” Skeeter suggested.

“Say, Skeeter,” Tick asked with a wide grin, “did you ever hear a skeart nigger woman holler?”

“Yes, indeedy,” the little barkeeper snickered. “I heerd two las’ night. Steamboat whistles am jes’ little wheezes when a nigger woman begins to squall.”

“No nigger-stealin’ fer me,” Tick announced with finality.

Skeeter lighted a cigarette and began to ponder.

Give Skeeter Butts the number two, and his active brain could always make four or forty-four by the simple process of multiplying. From the little Tick Hush had said, Skeeter multiplied and got this result: Gaitskill and Lanark had selected Button Hook as a suitable wife for Tick Hush; the white folks would be greatly disappointed if Tick did not marry her; any man who helped Tick get married to the woman of their choice would be in good favor with those two influential white men.

Reasoning thus, Skeeter determined to invent a plan which would insure a hasty marriage between Tick and Button, and he resolved at the same time to be the best man at their wedding. Most people, facing this situation, would have told Tick to go to Button Hook and ask her to marry him, pressing his suit with ardor, eloquence, and affection until the lady consented. But Skeeter never could think of the obvious thing.

There was a long silence in the Hen-Scratch saloon, interrupted only by the scratching of matches and the jiggering of feet.

At length Skeeter stood up with a loud laugh.

“Gee,” he howled. “My brains shore is actin’ like gourd-seeds to-day--I wonder how I never thunk of dat at fust!”

“Don’t bust no jokes on me, Skeeter,” Tick warned him. “Dis here is solemn bizzness, an’ de white folks don’t take no nigger foolishness.”

“Listen, Tick!” Skeeter commanded. “Whut you needs is a few lessons in coteship an’ marriage.”

“Dat’s a fack,” Tick agreed. “I needs a shawt cut-off.”

“Dar’s a actor-woman in dis town named Dazzle Zenor. She plays love parts in shows. I acted wid her once--we wus stunt-dancers fer de Nigger Uplift dat time I got shotted accidental.”

“Dat don’t he’p me none----”

“Aw, shut up!” Skeeter snapped. “You listen to me talk! Fools like you gimme a pain. Now, dis here Dazzle gal, she knows all about how to make love an’ how to cote a gal an’ how to ax to git married because she studies dat fer de stage.”

“I sees de light,” Tick grinned.

“Now, de dog’s tail wags dis way,” Skeeter said, warming up to his great idea. “You wants to go to Dazzle Zenor an’ ax her to gib you a few cheap lessons on how to make love an’ git married quick.”

“Dat’s whut I needs!” Tick agreed hesitatingly.

“Is you got any money on yer?” Skeeter demanded.

“De kunnel gib me five dollars las’ night,” Tick replied reluctantly.

“Dat’s a plenty,” Skeeter told him. “Dazzle will gib you five dollars’ wuth of lessons, an’ den you kin git married jes’ like drappin’ a hat.”

“Whar do Dazzle stay at?”

“She stays at Ginny Babe Chew’s house.”

“Would you mind gwine wid me, Skeeter?” Tick inquired. “I needs somebody to he’p me make de fust arrangements.”

“I never had no yuther idear!” Skeeter howled. “Ain’t dis here my plan? I don’t let no rooster like you crow up my big idears--I sees ’em through.”

He reached for his hat, and Tick stood up to go with him. Then he whooped:

“Oh, Little Bit! You take keer dis saloom till I gits back!”

VI

LOVE LESSONS

“You do de talkin’ fer me, Skeeter,” Tick begged as they entered Ginny Babe Chew’s yard. “I ain’t never got into no mess like dis befo’, an’ I cain’t tongue it out as free as you kin.”

“Dar she am,” Skeeter exclaimed, as he pointed to a young colored woman sitting on a bench under a pecan tree at the side of the house. “Come on!”

Dazzle Zenor was certainly the sort of woman a colored man would naturally select to teach him the art of love. She was slim and graceful, neat as a new pin and beautifully dressed; she had fine Moorish features, and smiled with beautiful teeth and did flattering things with her eyes, for Dazzle was a real actress.

“Dis here cullud gen’leman is got de love-bug, Dazzle,” Skeeter explained. “He wants to cote a gal so dat he kin marry her real prompt, an’ he don’t know how it is did. I tole him you wus a female actor an’ you could teach him how to love wid one lesson.”

Then Skeeter executed an elaborate wink.

“How much kin you pay?” Dazzle asked, looking at Tick.

“How much do it cost?” Tick asked cautiously.

“How many money is you got?” Dazzle inquired.

Tick handed her a five-dollar bill.

“Dat’s a plenty,” Dazzle laughed as she folded the bill and slipped it into the palm of her kid glove. Then she looked Tick over as if he were a horse she was thinking of buying. After a while she asked:

“Whut does you know about makin’ love to a woman, Tick?”

“Nothin’,” Tick answered modestly.

“Ain’t you never kissed no womens?” Dazzle asked incredulously.

“Yes’m.”

“Well, what happened?”

“Dey batted me over de head wid de fust thing whut come handy. De las’ one broke a puffeckly good settin’-chair on my noodle.”

“Ain’t you never hugged no womens?” Dazzle asked.

“I can’t perzackly call it huggin’,” Tick explained. “Quick as I grab ’em, dey squall an’ fight an’ ack like dey wus ag’in it.”

Dazzle turned to Skeeter with an amazed question:

“Did you ever see de beat?”

Skeeter was evidently stricken dumb before such complete inexperience and such colossal ignorance.

Tick wadded his hat into a tight ball and waited while Dazzle thought out a course of instruction.

“All right, Ticky,” she said, at last. “I’ll set here on dis bench an’ you come a-courtin’ me. Do de very best you knows how, an’ Skeeter kin stan’ off on one side an’ suggest improvements on de lesson.”

Dazzle sat down and waited.

Tick fumbled with his hat, and breathed like a choking horse.

Skeeter stood like a motion-picture director looking at the actors in this drama of love.

“Git busy!” Skeeter howled.

“Whu--whut muss I do fust?” Tick growled.

“Kiss her--kiss her!” Skeeter ordered.

Tick sat down beside Dazzle, and started to kiss her. Then he backed away, and took up his position at the far end of the bench, looking at her with extreme embarrassment.

“Aw, shuckins!” Skeeter howled. “You kissed at dat purdy gal like a sick sheep lickin’ salt! Don’t be skeart you’ll git too much--she ain’t p’ison--git yo’ five dollar’s wuth!”

Tick Hush “sulled.”

“I ain’t gwine take no mo’ lesson,” he declared. “You-all is jes’ prankin’ wid me. I wants my five dollars back.”

“Nothin’ doin’, Ticky,” Dazzle laughed. “I ain’t gwine git in de habit of givin’ money back--it’s too expensive. Bless Gawd, I ain’t never gib none back yit. Come on wid yo’ lessons!”

“I’s jes’ losin’ time an’ money monkeyin’ wid you-alls,” Tick growled. “You niggers is flimflamuxed me.”

“Naw!” Skeeter howled. “You’ll git yo’ money’s wuth. Lemme take yo’ place an’ show you how it is did!”

“You needn’t apply, Skeeter,” Dazzle grinned. “I’s givin’ dese here lessons. I’ll let Tick set on de bench an’ I’ll show him how it oughter be did. Set down, Tick!”

Tick sat down on the bench with about as much eagerness as a condemned man takes his seat in the electric chair. And he waited for what was to happen with about the same feeling that a man awaits the electric shock.

“Here’s de way to do de kissin’ ack,” Dazzle exclaimed in her best stage voice.

She swept forward in her best stage manner and threw her eager arms around--empty air.

Tick bolted.

Skeeter Butts grabbed a tree, laid his head back between his shoulder blades, opened his mouth to its fullest extent, and laughed like a fool.

Tick got a Cherokee rosebush between himself and the histrionic beauty and took a lesson in watchful waiting.

“Ketch him, Dazzle,” Skeeter screamed. “Ketch him--O my Lawd!”

His voice trailed off in demoniacal whoops of laughter like a wind-broken calliope, and Dazzle sat down with an astonishment which left her perfectly helpless.

In all her earthly career, she had never before found a man who bolted when she wanted to kiss him!

With a decisive gesture, she removed the five-dollar bill from the palm of her glove, and stood up, facing Tick Hush.

“Come here, Tick, an’ git dis money!” she commanded.

“No’m,” Tick chattered. “I wouldn’t come even fer five dollars!”

“Come on! I won’t kiss you--I jes’ want to han’ dis change back--honest!” Dazzle urged.

“Hang it on de rose bush an’ git back about fawty feet!” Tick commanded. “I ain’t trustin’ nobody no more!”

Dazzle solemnly laid the bill upon a branch of the rose, piercing it with a thorn so that it would not fall to the ground.

“Tick,” she said in a serious tone, “my advices to you is dis: You buy a real nice present fer dat gal of your’n wid dis money. Gib it to her an’ tell her you wants to marry her, den ax her paw to throw you down an hawg-tie you ontil she kin git her fust engagement kiss. Good-by!”

Dazzle Zenor turned away from the two men, went straight to her room, and sat down before a mirror. For half an hour, she studied every feature of her face with critical inspection. But her silent inquiry was in vain. To the end of her life, she wondered why Tick had bolted when she had tried to kiss him!

As for Tick, he edged around the rosebush until he got within reaching distance of that five-dollar bill. He grabbed it and ran down the street as if he were chased by a dozen pretty women desirous of presenting him with an affectionate osculation.

Skeeter’s maniacal laughter subsided to a hysterical giggle, as he watched Tick’s precipitous flight.

“Dar now!” he snickered. “De kisser’s gone an’ pulled his freight to kiss her on some later date!”

Then Skeeter sat down on the bench where Tick had received his first and last lesson in the art of love, and smoked one cigarette after another, sighing frequently and thinking hard. He decided that Tick had lost the opportunity of a lifetime to be kissed by the prettiest woman in the world, one who knew how to do it. Skeeter wished that he had had Tick’s chance.

“Shuckins!” he said in deep disgust. “A nigger like Tick don’t never know whut’s good fer him!”

VII

BUTTON HOOK

Deeply embarrassed by his experience, and sorely perplexed over his difficulties, Tick Hush wandered down toward that portion of the town occupied by the whites, and stopped short in his meditations before a drug-store which carried a stock of cheap jewelry. He held his retrieved five-dollar bill in his sweating palm and looked into the dusty show-window.