In Gaitskill’s stable in Tickfall, an ideal playhouse for two boys, Orren Randolph Gaitskill and Little Bit had formed a joint ownership over eleven interesting objects: One baseball bat which had “busted a nigger’s head,” and ten pistol bullets which had been extracted from the walls in the Gaitskill home. At frequent intervals an argument started between them as to which of the ten bullets had wounded Captain Kerley Kerlerac in the face. “Ef I knowed which one it wus, I’d shore tote it roun’ wid me fer luck,” Little Bit said. “This bat is a lucky bat. It blooded Mustard’s head. But we can’t carry it around for luck,” Org said. “Naw, suh, but we can kiss it fer luck,” Little Bit proclaimed. “That’s right,” Org said. “You kiss one end and I’ll kiss the other.” They solemnly held it up between them, and white lips and black lips caressed opposite ends of the big stick. In the Gaitskill home, Captain Kerley Kerlerac entered and asked for Virginia. This was his tenth call since the night of the dinner ten days before. But now, for the first time, the bandage was removed from his face. A long red scar marked the face from the point of the chin to the lobe of the ear. For the first time Virginia saw that mark which he would carry to his grave. Kerlerac noticed that look of distress, but he had a little question which he often asked, and it always had the effect of diverting her mind from anything, however important, to something which was vastly more important. “Do you love me as much as ever?” he asked quietly. But the girl could not take her eyes from the long red scar. Her chin quivered with emotion and her lips drooped with the pain of the thought of that night of comedy when he had to suffer this wound. “Stoop over and I’ll tell you,” she whispered. He bent his head to hear the whisper from her fragrant lips. She put both arms around his neck and kissed the scar upon his cheek. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The ’Fraid-Cat I “I’s glad de kunnel an’ ole miss is gone to N’Awleens,” Hopey Prophet remarked as she sank her thickly upholstered body into a deeply upholstered chair in the Gaitskill drawing-room. “I likes to take a seat an’ set down in de white folks’ parlor an’ ack white.” “If de kunnel knowed we wus settin’ in dis boodwar, he’d bu’st our necks,” Dazzle Zenor giggled as she sat down on the stool at the grand piano and ran her slim ebony fingers over the white keys. “I’ll shore fergit to tell him whar we spent our time while he wus gone,” Hopey chuckled, as she raised herself from the chair and waddled across the room to turn on all the electric lights. “Whut Marse Tom ain’t know won’t hurt us.” “I needs a beau to entertain me in dis nice room,” Dazzle smiled, looking up at the chandelier now blazing with light. “All dis noble arrangement is wasted on me ’thout no man to see me in de middle of it.”