Figger pocketed his nickel-plated cigarette holder and moved away. Popsy turned and surveyed the ample proportions of Mrs. Solly Skaggs. “You needs a good steady husbunt to keep you back from yo’ evil ways, sister,” he announced. “You didn’t hab no call to lead my little Figger Bush into evil ways.” “I won’t do it no more, Popsy,” Mrs. Skaggs said easily. Old Popsy Spout growled like a senile bear and moved away. On the edge of the platform Pap was waiting for him, feeling well satisfied with himself and the revenge he had achieved. “Pap, Figger Bush is done cut hisse’f off from me ferever,” the old man snapped. “I’s gwine drive him an’ his wife outen my house an’ home.” “You’ll git pretty lonesome, won’t you, Popsy?” Pap asked idly. “Naw!” the old man snapped. “I’s gwine marry agin right away.” “Who you done picked fer de gigglin’ bride, Popsy?” Pap asked with utter indifference. “I done picked de widder Solly Skaggs,” Popsy proclaimed. “I’s gittin ole an’ blind an’ she’s big enough fer me to see as fur as my eyesight goes. By dis time nex’ year, she’ll be too fat to dance an’ us’ll bofe be of de same mind on dat. She needs some sottled husbunt to lead her outen de error of her ways. Excusin’ dat, she’s collected her insurance money an’ I ain’t got no real good objections to a little more dough. I needs it fer my ole age.” He moved away leaving Pap Curtain gasping for breath, stupefied by utter amazement. VI “A CUSSIN’ CASE” Half an hour later Skeeter and Figger met in the Hen-Scratch saloon to discuss the events of the evening. “We shore knocked de skin offen Pap Curtain’s nose to-night, Figger,” Butts exulted. “Dat’s de way so keep on. We’ll show dat ole man dat he cain’t beat us at dis game.” “Never no more fer me, Skeeter,” Figger said earnestly. “I got to repent an’ refawm an’ dodge brickbats. Atter you dances one time wid a ole sook-cow like Solly, ’tain’t no trouble to repent an’ refawm. But I’s shore much ableeged fer dis cigareet holder. I been needin’ one fer a long time.” “You gimme dat cigareet holder back,” Skeeter snapped. “Us kin use it fer all de yuther prizes, an’ I proposes to git my money back by smokin’ it myself.” “I knowed you warn’t gwine be lib’ral wid yo’ gifts,” Figger said, as he reluctantly produced the holder and passed it to Skeeter. “I oughter lost dat prize befo’ I showed up here.” “You kin git de good outen it by watchin’ me smoke it,” Skeeter snickered. “An’ ef we bust Pap’s plans about startin’ a saloon, mebbe I’ll let you smoke it a few times to keep yo’ feelin’s from gittin’ hurt.” At that moment the door of the saloon opened and old Isaiah Gaitskill came across the room to where the two men sat at a table. Isaiah was one of the landmarks of Tickfall, withered and wrinkled and dry like the hull of a walnut, his gray hair fitting his head like a rubber cap, over eighty years of age, but as hard and active as a soldier.