“Now, Maw,” says Sands, “can’t a feller look around a bit?” “He kin look after he splits,” she says. “Lift that there ax.” He lifted it. “Now chop.” He chopped. “Howdy, Mr. Jones?” says I. He dropped his ax and looked at me kind of pleased. “I come to talk business to you—paintin’ business,” says I. “You chop,” says Mrs. Jones. “How kin I chop and talk business, Maw? My perfession hain’t choppin’, it’s paintin’. Now hain’t it, Maw? You can say no other ways if you was to try.” “This feller,” says I, pointing to Catty, “is named Atkins, and he’s got paintin’ work.” Mr. Jones looked Catty over kind of hopeless, and then says: “Paintin’ work? How much? Dog-kennel maybe. I hain’t no time to be paintin’ dog-kennels.” “It’s a big job, Mr. Jones,” says Catty, “and my father has to hire several good men to help him.” “Your father! Who’s your Paw, Sonny?” “Mr. Atkins, the master painter,” says Catty, without wiggling an eyebrow. “He calc’lates to hire several men, and sent me to see if you wanted a job beginning Monday.” “What’s the job?” “Paintin’ Mr. Manning’s new warehouse.” “All of it?” “All of it.” “Can’t do it. Too big. Before I got t’ other end of it painted the paint on the first end ’u’d be wore out and I’d have to start in repaintin’ ag’in. Hain’t lookin’ for no permanent paintin’ job. I like variety. Different jobs every day or so; that’s me.” “You don’t have to do it alone,” says Catty. “There’ll be other men. There’ll be my father to boss and to work, and this Mr. Patt—” “Darkie Patt?” “Yes.” “Won’t work with him. Have nothin’ to do with him. Wouldn’t lean a ladder ag’in’ the same buildin’ he was leanin’ a ladder agin. “That’s what he says about you,” Catty says. “Eh?” “He says you can’t paint, nohow,” says Catty. “He says he was willin’ to work, but that if you was on the same job he’d want twice the wages you was gittin’ because he could paint twice as much and twice as well with one hand.” “Did, did he?” “Yes, but I says I didn’t think so, and I says I’d like to have a chance to prove it. It was a kind of a challenge to a paintin’-race. Yes, sir. I says to Mr. Patt that I’d start him out paintin’ on one side and you on the other. Even start. Then there’d be a race betwixt you two to see who could do the most and the best. Yes, sir, and there was to be a prize. Five dollars it was to the feller that got his side done first.” “You mean Patt was willin’ to race _me_?” “He’ll race you, all right.” “Huh! Hear that, Maw?” “I heard it,” says Mrs. Jones, “and if you paint like you split wood, Patt kin sleep half a day and beat you with one hand tied.” “Think so, do you? Think so? That’s your idee? Wa-al, I’ll show you. That’s what I’ll do.... Maw, you jest walk down to that job and cock your eyes up at me a-workin’ if you want to see paint fly. Paint hain’t never flew as I’ll make it fly. You watch.” “Then you agree?” says Catty. “You kin bet your bottom dollar. When do we start?”