“He’d shore howl,” Dazzle agreed, reluctantly abandoning that plan. “Well, I’ll go out and make love to dat ole man, an’ sneak de rabbit-foot outen his pocket.” “Any way will do dat will git de foot back ’thout makin’ too much of a rookus, Dazzle,” Hopey said. “We don’t want no row, no nigger scrape, no loud noise, and no white folks mixin’ in.” “White folks is shore good mixers,” Dazzle said, wincing at the recollection of several plans of hers which had been rudely frustrated by the interference of the whites. “I’ll see whut I kin do.” IX SKEETER BUTTS At the time that Hopey was in conversation with Dazzle Zenor, Mustard was in deep thought. At last a name came into his darkened and troubled mind which was like a blaze of light illuminating all his perplexities: “Skeeter Butts!” Ten minutes later he entered the Hen-Scratch saloon and was told that the man he sought was in a little room in the rear. “I’m shore glad to find you so easy, Skeeter,” Mustard said in a relieved tone. “Ef you had been out of town I would hab fotch’ my troubles to you jes’ the same, whar you wus.” “Dis is whar you gits exputt advices on ev’ything,” Skeeter laughed as he sat down and lighted a cigarette. Why is it that people make confidants of barkeeps? And whom will we tell our troubles to when the world is made safe for prohibition? Skeeter was a saddle-colored, dapper, petite negro, the dressiest man of any color who ever lived in Tickfall. His hair was always closely clipped, the part made in the middle of his head with a razor. His collars were so high that they made him look like a jackass, with his chin hanging over a whitewashed fence. His clothes were so loud that they invariably proclaimed the man a block away. He was the “pet nigger” of all the well-to-do white people in the town, who invariably took him upon their hunting and fishing trips; his dancing, singing, gift of mimicry, and certain histrionic gifts had given him a place in many amateur theatrical exhibitions in Tickfall, among both whites and blacks; and with all his monkey trickery he, nevertheless, had the confidence of all the white people, and could walk in and out of more houses without a question being asked as to the reason for his presence there than any white or black in the little village. Among the negroes he was Sir Oracle. He was matrimonial adjuster in courtship, marriage, and divorce; he was confidential adviser at baptisms and funerals; his expert advice was sought in all matters pertaining to lodge and church and social functions. In short, he represented in Tickfall colored society what Colonel Gaitskill did among the white people. “Dis is whar you gits exputt advices on eve’ything,” Skeeter laughed, for he knew his standing among his people. “I don’t want advices. I wants a hold-up man,” Mustard said gloomily. “How come?”