There was a whoop from the four negroes, then each handed Skeeter certain derogatory remarks calculated to reduce his self-esteem to the minimum.
“Pap Curtain tipped me off on Doodle,” Skeeter said defensively. “I don’t know nothin’ ’bout pickin’ em.”
There was a moment of surprised silence; then Hitch asked:
“Dat sho’ is curious,” Hitch said in a perplexed tone. “Now Pap gib me a tip on dat race an’ he said Dixie would win.”
“Dat’s whut he tole us,” Mustard and Figger chimed in.
“I don’t kotch on to dat,” Prince Total declared. “Pap sold me a tip on dat same race, an’ he said Rooster would win.”
“Huh,” Skeeter Butts grunted, “dat shows whut a slick-head nigger Pap is. He wucks it dis way--he tole twenty niggers dat Doodle-Bug would win; den he tole twenty mo’ niggers dat Dixie would win; den he tole twenty yuther niggers dat Rooster would win--an’ dar warn’t but three hosses in de race. Of co’se he picked a winner fer twenty of dem niggers, an’ he picked a near winner fer twenty mo’, an’ he tuck up cont’ibutions of fifty cents from sixty niggers, an’ fawty of ’em come back to git anodder tip!”
“My Lawd!” the quartet mourned in righteous indignation. “Pap hadn’t oughter did us dataway!”
“Dat’s all right,” Skeeter said consolingly. “We gits one mo’ day of racin’ to-morrer, an’ I’s doin’ some heavy thinkin’. When I gits my plan all ready, ef you niggers will he’p, we’ll git Pap Curtain an’ ’vide him up--hoofs, hide, horns, an’ taller!”
“We’s wid you, Skeeter!” they shouted. “You kin sottle you’ owe-bills wid us when we ’vides up Pap’s pickin’s.”
The men tramped out of the saloon, and ten minutes later the door swung open again, admitting Pap Curtain.
“De good Lawd is sho’ heerd my prayer,” Skeeter murmured thankfully as he rose to his feet.
Pap came straight to the bar, laid down a five-cent piece, and remarked:
Skeeter set the drink upon the bar, then, under pretense of wiping the bar with his rag, flicked the coin so that it fell on the floor at Pap’s feet.
When Pap stooped to pick it up, Skeeter quietly emptied the odorless contents of a tiny vial into the glass.
“Put de nickel back in yo’ pocket, Pap,” Skeeter said pleasantly when Pap tendered it again. “It’s my treat. Less sot down at de table an’ cornverse awhile.”