"Just act natural, Ned. I won't let on to a thing. Anyhow, Mister Ward's probably already seen your donkey, and there lies your mammy dog. He'll know her." "Yes, suh." "I'll walk out on the porch. Then, when he staggers in. you just hold your tongue, 'less he asks you something." Ned must have followed Papa out to the porch, for I could still hear talking. I slid farther down in my corner and put a purple jawbreaker in my mouth. Then, a green one. The others I stuffed into my pocket. I wondered why Papa had decided to let me have so much candy, and why he wanted me to play cat and mouse. Ned sounded excited about something. Glad, too. "Praise the Lawd! Look, Mister Jodie, he ain't gwine t' stop here! That horse ain't turning to come up the trail. Praise the Lawd!" "Yeah, he's going on somewhere else." "Mister Ward tryin' to tell you somethin', Mister Jodie. The man so drunk he can't talk." "'Evening, Ward. What's that you say?" "I say, 'Don't waste time!" "I won't, Ward." "Don't pay— Don't pay no mind to—to what Ned tells! It's wastin' time!" "Ward, where're you headed, such a hot evening?" "John Mason's. Gotta get John to fix this damn gun. Hammer's stickin'. If this Goddamn horse would just move on. Get up! You sway-back fool, get up! Mister Jodie, you got any shells?" "Yeah." "I'll be back directly and buy some. Soon's John gets this damn piece o' gun fixed." "All right, Ward." "Ts glad he's gwine to Mister John's." "I tell you, Ned, if he thinks John Mason's gonna sit right down and work on that shotgun this evening, he's badly mistaken. Mister Mason can mend anything, make anything. But he sure takes his time. He never hurries 'cept when he's building a coffin. He works like lightning on coffins." "Yes, suh." "Thank goodness, he's outta sight. Come on in, Ned. I'd better measure up your oil. Now, where'd I set that can?" "Here 'tis, Mister Jodie." I fell asleep, or something, for the next I heard was Papa yelling at some man and a big blamming racket that sounded like chairs falling over. "You're a fool for thinking up such a notion! A plain fool! I ain't gonna let you have money to set up no whiskey still! I don't care who you threaten!" I raised up to see who Papa was calling a fool. It was Mister Ward! "God damn! It wouldn't take no heap to get me my copper cooker! Folks'd never suspicion nothin' neither, you bein' a church-goin' man—Miss Nannie's husband, to boot. Ever'-body knows she's purt nigh a walkin' saint!" "Ward Lawson, don't call my wife's name when you're talking whiskey, cussing every breath!" "You tryin' to tell me how to talk? You goody-goody church deacon!" "You'd better go on home, Ward, and—" "'Fore Chris'mas I could pay you back! Whiskey sells quick! Good money in it! Why, I'd pay up what's done charged on your store books! Think o' that!" "I told you no, Ward! I mean it!"