“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 hadbeen 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!
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!”
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’s 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 activebrain 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!”
“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 mucheagerness 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 theprettiest 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!”
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.
“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 pieceof 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 isgwine 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 apair 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. “Youlef’ 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!”
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 liberalityin 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 shedid 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 TTick Hush
When Button had deciphered this communication she placed both letters back in their envelopes andhid 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!”
“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 flatterTick 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.”
“All right,” Skeeter said ungraciously. “Go down to Button Hook an’ git yo’ coat, yo’ letters, an’ yo’ wrist-watch back—an’ I hopes to Gawd dat Button Hook will chaw you up an’ spit you out!”
“Marse Tom don’t want his pest-house nigger ruint like dat!” Tick protested.
Skeeter pushed him out of the back door and returned to the barroom.
Thus dismissed, Tick went slowly toward the cabin occupied by Button Hook. Then he thought of something which quickened his footsteps and gave him courage.
“I won’t hab no trouble to git my coat back. I jumped through dat winder an’ busted it to smashereens, an’ of co’se it will be open.”
He sneaked up to the house from the side nearest to the woods, and approached the window with the utmost caution. Climbing in over the broken frame, he felt about the room until he located his coat. Thrusting his hand into the inside pocket, he brought it out empty.
“Dey’s gone!” he sighed. “Mo’ an’ mo’ trouble all de time!”
He stood thinking and listening until his attention was attracted by the loud ticking of a clock in the room.
“I gitcher!” he grinned. “Button said she hid de wrist-watch behime de clock.”
He thrust his hand between the wall and the clock, and in a hollow space behind the timepiece, he found the watch and the two envelopes.
“Huh,” he grunted, “dese here is shore my losted letters. De Lawd am shorely wid me.”
Climbing cautiously and noiselessly out of the window, he walked out of the front gate, and, all danger being over, he started jauntily down the street. He felt care-free and happy once more, and he began to sing.
Several hundred yards down the road Button Hook heard him, and concealed herself behind a clump of bushes. She carried a double-barreled, muzzle-loading shotgun, and she had the face and manner of one who was determined to use it.
Button had been hunting through all the negro settlements of the town for the man who was now approaching, singing at the top of his voice. She listened to the song with an ugly smile upon her lips: