“My Lawd!” Prince Total exclaimed. “Dat warn’t no fair. I wus mighty nigh skeart to death.”
“I reckin so,” Vinegar Atts bellowed. “Yo’ mem’ry ain’t loaded wid nothin’ but blank ca’tridges ontil people begins to talk about yo’ meanness--den yo’ shore is got plenty ammunition of remembrunce.”
“I hope she ain’t gwine pull no more of dat stuff,” Pap Curtain said uneasily. “How much did you tell her ’bout me, Skeeter?”
“She’s done turned loose all she knows,” Skeeter replied.
“I hope so,” Pap said menacingly. “Ef she revelates any mo’ about me I knows a yeller-faced bar-keep’ who is gwine hab his mug pounded into anodder color.”
“No danger--I ain’t skeart,” Skeeter said with a dry grin. “I realizes dat wus a mistake.”
There was silence for a few minutes, a drink for the crowd at Skeeter’s expense, and then Skeeter mentioned a plan he had matured in the night:
“Cain’t us niggers fix up some kind of buzzo on dat gal an’ git even wid her?” he asked.
“Whut mought dat buzzo be?” Vinegar Atts inquired.
“Well, suh, I figgers it out dis way: Dat Deo Diddle is offered a reward fer any handcuffs he can’t git out of. Now ef Sheriff Marse John Flournoy would only loan us some handcuffs----”
“Listen to dat nigger’s brains a-poppin’!” Prince Total exclaimed in extreme admiration. “Fer mussy sake, Skeeter, go see Marse John right now. I’ll keep dis saloom.”
The crowd sat down to wait while Skeeter hastened to the courthouse, entered the sheriff’s office, and stood, hat in hand, grinning at Mr. John Flournoy.
“Come in, Skeeter,” Flournoy said. “I won’t lend any money, won’t hear any nigger love scrapes, won’t give any advice, won’t listen to any of your troubles. Excusing all those things, what else do you want?”
Skeeter grinned. As he would have expressed it, Marse John was his “kinnery.” He had grown up in a cabin in the sheriff’s yard, and this big-bodied, kind-hearted sheriff held few terrors for Skeeter.
“Dar, now, Marse John, you’ll shore hab room fer a good appetite atter you is got all dem words offen yo’ stomick. I come to git a view from you about how to colleck a twenty-five dollars reward-bill.”
“That’s interesting,” Flournoy grinned. “Let’s have the details.”
“Well, suh, a nigger is habin’ a show in dis town an’ he calls hisse’f a Handcuff King. He specify dat he’s a Monarch of de Manacle. He argufy dat dar ain’t no kind of handcuff made dat he can’t git hisse’f loose from in less’n five minutes. Does you reckin dat is so, Marse John?”