Taking off his hat, he placed it with exaggerated solemnity over his heart and sighed with pitiable sadness: “Don’t he look nachel? Ain’t dat a sweet smile on his face? He looks jes’ like I seed him yistiddy—ain’t changed a bit!” He walked over to Figger, leaned down, and whispered: “Wus you acquainted wid de corp’?” “I knowed him real good,” Figger answered, glaring at the prostrate form. “He shore wus a devilish ole cranky nigger.” “When does de fun’ral orgies take place?” Skeeter whispered. “Is de Revun Vinegar Atts gwine ’fishiate at de ’terment? Po’ ole man—atter all his troubles, he is at rest!” A slovenly waitress approached the whispering men, yawned prodigiously, and gazed at Popsy with a stupid face. “I wants you-alls to wake up Popsy an’ tote him off home to bed. Dis here ain’t no nursery. I’s sleepy an’ it’s time to shet up dis house.” Pap Curtain, on his way home from Coon Island, saw the men gathered around Popsy and entered. “Whut ails Popsy, brudders?” he exclaimed. “Is de ole man sick?” “Naw,” Skeeter snapped. “No such good luck. Mebbe ef he sleeped here till mawnin’ he’d roll off dis table an’ break his fool neck!” “He’s love-sick,” old Isaiah cackled. “He gittin’ ready to marry.” “Shore!” Pap snarled. “He tripped up my legs an’ throwed me down. I wus in hopes Popsy wus sick—less shove him off dis table an’ kill him!” Then another man entered the restaurant. He was a fat, pot-bellied negro, his head bald except for two tufts of hair growing over his ears which made him look like a big fat-faced mule wearing a blind bridle. “Hello, brudders!” the Rev. Vinegar Atts bellowed. “How come you-alls didn’t stay at de weddin’?” “Never heard tell about dat’n,” Skeeter exclaimed. “Who is de victims?” “Brudder Wash Jones an’ Sister Solly Skaggs!” “Whoo-pee-ee!” Figger Bush screamed. “De Lawd wus shorely wid me. Wash is done saved my life!” Figger’s wild yell of exultation aroused Popsy from his slumbers. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Then he saw Isaiah Gaitskill. “I done decided not to marry Solly, Brudder Isaiah,” he whined. “I tuck a little nap an’ I dreamt a dream dat Calline, my fust wife, come to me an’ warned me to beware of widders. She said dey wus awful treach’rous an’ deceivin’.” “Calline is got it right, Popsy,” Pap sighed. “My little romance is snipped in de bud.” “Wash an’ Solly had dat case fixed up in N’ Awleens,” Vinegar told them. “Solly wouldn’t marry Wash onless he had de same amount of money dat she inherited from her husbunt. So Wash arrived in Tickfall, started a Coon Island like N’ Yawk has, collected five hundred admissions at one dollar per each, married Solly an’ lit out on de midnight train.” “Whut becomes of dat Coon Island?” Pap asked. “Wash axed me to hand dat whole shebang over to you fer a consolation prize,” Vinegar answered. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The First High Janitor