Conko watched the diminutive darky until he stopped by his table. Then the lazy, lion-like eyes glowed with a yellow fire, and with a slapping motion of his monstrous hand he exclaimed: “Shoo, fly, don’t bodder me!” Skeeter Butts cackled like a nervous hen, fluttered well out of reach of that hand, and snickered: “Lawd, Conko, you sho’ is one powerful funny man! Dat gits you a free-fer-nothin’ drink. You is better’n a show-actor.” “You done kotch de lizard by de tail, son--kotch him de fust time,” Conko informed him in deep, rumbling bellow. “I is a holy show!” “How is you feelin’ to-day, Conko?” Skeeter asked as he set the drink before him. “I feels like I is sorry I wus borned to die!” Conko answered, swallowing the raw whisky with one gulp and with a dry eye. “How is de bettin’ gittin’ on?” “De niggers takes up eve’y bet, Conko,” Skeeter replied. “You see, dis here Hitch Diamond--nobody ain’t never knocked him out yit!” “He ain’t never fit nobody yit,” Conko remarked easily. “Befo’ dis day is over I’ll make him wish he’d been borned a little nigger gal!” “I hopes so,” Skeeter said with a nervous flutter in his tone. “I done bet de limit. Ef it ain’t a win wid you, I’s gwine hab de misforchine to lose fawty dollars.” With a pompous air Conko Mukes thrust his hand into his pocket and brought out a large roll of bills which had been carefully wrapped around a fat corn-cob. He tossed it across the table. “Dar am fifteen dollars whut you kin bet fer me, Skeeter. Dat many money says to you dat I’s gwine make Hitch Diamond dig a hole in de groun’ to git away from de Georgia Cyclome.” “Hitch specify dat he gwine rub his gloves wid hoodoo-juice,” Skeeter said as he fumbled with the corn-cob. “Ain’t you got no stunts like dat to pull on?” Conko Mukes opened his eyes with a sudden and tremendous interest. He sat for a moment in deep thought. Then he answered in a regretful tone: “Naw, suh, I ain’t never studied ’bout dat befo’. I don’t depen’ on no hoodoo-juice. I depen’s on elbow-grease! I fights straight, and hits hard, an’ knocks ’em out on de level.” “Yes, suh, elbow-grease is powerful good,” Skeeter said uneasily; “but I figgers dat us oughter hab all de he’p we kin git! Of co’se, I don’t b’lieve in no hoodoo myse’f, but----” “Us don’t need no hoodoo,” Conko interrupted. “Let Hitch Diamond git it. He needs it. He don’t know it yit, but he needs a dorctor, a preacher, a undertaker, an’ a nice, deep grave in de cem’tery!” “I wouldn’t be so powerful shore ’bout dat, Conko,” Skeeter suggested. “You ain’t never seed dat Hitch Diamond pufform.” “Whut sort lookin’ coon is he?” Conko asked. “He’s mo’ tall dan you, wider dan you, heavier dan you is. He’s got arms long enough to hug a elerphunt aroun’ de stomick.” “I’ll break dem long arms in fo’ pieces an’ wrop ’em aroun’ Hitch’s neck like a mournin’ rag,” Conko declared.