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.
“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----”
“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.”
“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?”
“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.”
“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.”
