“Figger Bush will be dead when Popsy comes,” Skeeter snickered. “Dead an’ buried!” “Not ef I kin he’p it!” Figger announced, as he rose to his feet with a frightened air. “You got to ketch a nigger fust befo’ you kin dead an’ bury him.” “Set down, Figger!” Skeeter exclaimed. “Yo’ gran’pap on yo’ mammy’s side didn’t inherit you no brains! Dis here is a good plan to git you out of trouble.” “Tell it to me slow,” Figger begged, as he resumed his seat on the ground. “I don’t favor no plan havin’ a dead Figger Bush in it.” “Listen, Figger!” Skeeter urged. “I wants you to pick out a nice-lookin’ nigger gal whut could play like she wus yo’ widder.” “Suttinly,” Figger grinned, beginning to see the light. “Scootie Tandy could play widder. She’s been one about two year--all de nigger mens run after her tryin’ to pussuade her to fergit her spite an’ marry agin. I could git her to play widder.” “Dat’ll put an eend to yo’ mis’ry,” Skeeter cackled. “Go tell Scootie all yo’ trouble, ax Scootie to meet de train dat Popsy comes on, an’ bust de sad news to him dat you is dead an’ buried!” “Mebbe Popsy won’t b’lieve her,” Figger objected. “Me an’ Vinegar will back her up in dat tale,” Skeeter assured him. “De revun elder won’t mind stretchin’ de blanket a little fer de sake of savin’ a friend. Ain’t dat so, Revun?” “Dat’s so!” Vinegar declared. “My life job an’ my callin’ is savin’ niggers!” “Whar muss I git to while I’m bein’ dead?” Figger inquired. “Go fishin’,” Skeeter grinned. “Fishin’ is de best spote on yearth fer de livin’ an’ de dead!” “How long am I got to stay dead?” Figger asked. “When de ole man Popsy hears tell dat you is gone hence an’ ain’t no mo,’ he’ll take his foot in his hand an’ ramble back to Yalabam’,” Vinegar rumbled. “Dat’ll be yo’ sing to come fo’th from de dead!” Figger put on his battered hat and stood up. He asked pleadingly: “Couldn’t you loant a dead man half a dollar, Skeeter?” “Whut you want wid it?” Skeeter snapped. “I figger dat a real live corp’ oughter git a hair-cut an’ a shave!” Figger chuckled. “Dat’s right,” Skeeter laughed, as he handed out the money. “You scoot over an’ see Scootie right now!” * * * * * Scootie Tandy was a fat, good-natured young woman, who wore red head-rags, wrapped up her kinky hair with strings to give it a better kink, and had no higher object in life than to be regular at her meals. She had worn deep mourning for over a year for a worthless husband whose death had been advantageous to her in that it gave her an excuse for doing even less work than she had done when he was living. “It ’pears like I ain’t been well an’ strong sence Jim died an’ lef’ me to ’tend to eve’ything,” she whined at the kitchen doors of the white people, to aid her plea for food and old clothes.