“Suttinly,” Little Bit answered. “I got plenty influence an’ kin git a lot of votes. Pap say to me dat plenty offices is to be give away to his supporters ef he gits elected an’ he done tipped me off dat I’ll be de fust high janitor at four dollars per mont’ pay.” “But me an’ Figger is gwine be neuter in dis race,” Skeeter snapped. “De Hen-Scratch saloon will be de grand high headquarters of all de politics. Dis saloon mussn’t take no sides.” “I ain’t no pardner here,” Little Bit replied. “Nobody won’t pay no mind to me.” “All right,” Skeeter said after a moment’s thought. “I reckin you don’t count fer nothin’ nohow. But I don’t stand fer no politickin’ about dis place. Ef you gits to makin’ any of Pap’s speeches fer him, I’ll shore suppress you.” Little Bit shuffled his high-heeled pumps in a few dance steps to show his contempt for this warning and passed out. “I hope dis politics disease ain’t ketchin’,” Figger sighed. “Little Bit is done got de germ.” “’Tain’t ketchin’,” Skeeter assured him. “But I shore hopes Pap is gwine win out or some yuther good man. Mustard Prophet oughter be squelched.” “I ain’t huntin’ no job like dat,” Figger replied as he closed his knife and looked with admiration upon his handiwork. “I’s gwine home to my dinner. Scootie is cooked some hot cakes an’ I’m got a gallon of sirup.” II In Pap Curtain’s career he had driven many carriages which transported over the Parish of Tickfall the candidates for the offices within the gift of the people. He now recalled to his profit that every prospective Congressman, Governor, and Senator went from house to house, seeking out each voter, loudly enunciating their political principles, and soliciting their votes. Figger Bush, on his way home to his dinner of hot cakes and sirup, found a little group of negroes standing on a corner in Dirty-Six, with Pap Curtain in the midst. Pap gesticulated with his left hand, which held a lemon, and his harsh, snarling voice clearly enunciated the principles on which he hoped to be elected president of the Tickfall Uplift League. Figger slipped quietly around the little group, determined to go on his way. But Pap would let no possible voter escape. “Ain’t dat so, Brudder Figger Bush?” Pap howled. “Whut?” Figger asked, brought to a sudden halt. “Ain’t whut I been sayin’ true fer a fack?” Pap demanded. “I ain’t heerd nothin’,” Figger mumbled, longing to escape. Pap walked over and laid an impressive and detaining hand upon Figger’s shoulder. The crowd moved with Pap and enclosed him, and Figger found himself shut in on all sides. “I been explavacatin’ dat de Uplift League ain’t been run right. Ain’t dat so?” Pap snarled. “’Tain’t been run to suit me,” Figger murmured knowing that he could escape more easily if he agreed with Pap than would be possible if he started an argument.