The bird’s horrible screams had brought all the jays in that part of the swamp to the spot, and they stood around the imprisoned bird, making loud and profane comments upon his unfortunate predicament. At intervals some blue jay, impelled by curiosity, walked up within reach of the captive bird’s claws. Instantly the captive reached out, seized the bird, and held him a prisoner until Swampo slunk out of the underbrush, grinning like an ape, and released it!
As he thought about this fearful scene, Skeeter’s hair stood up on end, just as it had years before when he witnessed it, and had crawled, terrified, away from that vicinity. A cold shiver passed over his sweat-drenched body; he raised his head and eyed Swampo’s wide, laughing mouth with superstitious awe.
“Swampo shore is got de laugh on me,” he muttered through chattering teeth. “I wish dat nigger hadn’t sold me dis book. I ain’t no scholard!”
Lighting one cigarette after another to bolster up his courage, he managed at last to put out a trembling finger and turn the book over so he could read the title-page. With the greatest difficulty he spelled it out, giving the peculiar negro pronunciation to the words as he uttered them:
“‘Af-ric-an Dream Book an’ Fortune Teller, containin’ de true in-ter-pre-ta-tion of dreams, an’ de numbers of de events to which dey ap-ply. Also prog-nos-ti-ca-tions an’ di-vi-na-tions by cards, dice, do-mi-noes, dreams, moles, an’ marks, phy-si-og-no-my, phy-si-ol-o-gy, signs, au-gu-ri-es, charms, an’ in-can-ta-tions----”
“My good gosh!” Skeeter almost screamed as he sprang to his feet. “Dis is a awful book! Half dem words don’t signify nothin’!”
For ten minutes he walked up and down under the trees muttering to himself, his face fear-stricken, his hands trembling, his body oozing with cold sweat.
Then with a mighty resolution he reached out for the book, folded it, and slipped it into his hip pocket.
“Dis book is done skeart me plum’ to death,” he sighed. “Ef I die, I’ll go to hell! I wonder whar Revun Vinegar Atts is at? I’s gwine to talk dis over wid some religium pusson!”
The Rev. Vinegar Atts occupied four chairs under a tree in front of the Shoofly church--his body on one, his feet on another, his arms spread wide across the back of two more.