“Now, Figger,” Skeeter Butts announced the next morning, “I got such a idjut fer a partner in dis here saloon dat I had to go git myse’f candidated fer pol’tics.” “Is you runnin’ fer presidunt?” Figger asked. “I thought you said you squealed too much when you talked.” “I’s runnin’ fer vice-presidunt,” Skeeter said solemnly. “I’s runnin’ wid Mustard Prophet an’ us is shore gwine gib you an’ Pap Curtain a happy time gittin’ elected.” “Dat looks bad to me, Skeeter—pardners in bizzness runnin’ ag’in’ each yuther.” “Dat’s de best bizzness trick I’s done yit,” Skeeter said confidently. “Bofe sides uses dis house fer headquarters. I sells drinks to de Mustard Prophets an’ you sells drinks to de Pap Curtains, an’ we ketch ’em comin’ an’ gwine.” “I sees,” Figger exclaimed in a voice which throbbed with admiration. “Dat’s de best nigger idear in Tickfall. We’ll git rich an’ one of us will git elected.” “Look out fer Ginny Babe Chew!” the voice of Little Bit proclaimed from the other end of the room, where the little darky wrestled with a broom. “She’s de one whut’ll ketch you-alls comin’ an’ gwine!” “Us don’t care nothin’ fer dat ole squawkin’ fat hen,” Skeeter replied contemptuously. “You better not git too close,” Little Bit warned. “Dat ole hen’ll peck you!” “Shut up! You git dis saloon cleant up. Us is expect plenty comp’ny to-day.” “It wus a narrer squeak fer us, Figger,” Skeeter said earnestly. “When you didn’t stay neuter dis bizzness wus ’bout to go bust ontil I made dem new arrangements.” During the day Pap Curtain came in and held sundry whispered conferences with Figger Bush. Mustard Prophet drove to town and was closeted for two hours with Skeeter Butts. Both men were arranging for a conference at the Hen-Scratch saloon that night with their henchmen, and both barkeepers were feeling elated at the prospect of a prosperous evening. Then Vinegar Atts entered and spoiled it all. He left his little red runabout snorting and spitting outside the door while he entered with haste carrying some of the paraphernalia of a fisherman. “Gimme a little snake-bite med’cine, Skeeter,” he yelled. “I’s in a hurry. I’s gwine fishin’ an’ I’s heard tell dat snakes in plenty in de swamp.” “Is fish bitin’?” Figger inquired. “Dunno,” Vinegar replied. “I done selected dis occupation to keep from stayin’ in town. Dat Uplift election is done deprived me of my goat. I’s skeart to stay here an’ git on either side. It’ll bust up my Shoofly chu’ch.” “Ef us wus twins an’ could git on bofe sides, dat wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” “Whar you been at dat you don’t know nothin’?” demanded Vinegar in disgusted tones. “Some of dem niggers whut represent bofe sides come to my chu’ch to prayer-meetin’ last night, an’ dey got in a fight at de door of de meetin’-house!” “Dey oughter be churched!” Skeeter exclaimed.