At the time that Hopey was in conversation with Dazzle Zenor, Mustard was in deep thought. At last a name came into his darkened and troubled mind which was like a blaze of light illuminating all his perplexities: “Skeeter Butts!” Ten minutes later he entered the Hen-Scratch saloon and was told that the man he sought was in a little room in the rear.
“I’m shore glad to find you so easy, Skeeter,” Mustard said in a relieved tone. “Ef you had been out of town I would hab fotch’ my troubles to you jes’ the same, whar you wus.”
“Dis is whar you gits exputt advices on ev’ything,” Skeeter laughed as he sat down and lighted a cigarette.
Why is it that people make confidants of barkeeps?
And whom will we tell our troubles to when the world is made safe for prohibition?
Skeeter was a saddle-colored, dapper, petite negro, the dressiest man of any color who ever lived in Tickfall. His hair was always closely clipped, the part made in the middle of his head with a razor. His collars were so high that they made him look like a jackass, with his chin hanging over a whitewashed fence. His clothes were so loud that they invariably proclaimed the man a block away.
He was the “pet nigger” of all the well-to-do white people in the town, who invariably took him upon their hunting and fishing trips; his dancing, singing, gift of mimicry, and certain histrionic gifts had given him a place in many amateur theatrical exhibitions in Tickfall, among both whites and blacks; and with all his monkey trickery he, nevertheless, had the confidence of all the white people, and could walk in and out of more houses without a question being asked as to the reason for his presence there than any white or black in the little village.
Among the negroes he was Sir Oracle. He was matrimonial adjuster in courtship, marriage, and divorce; he was confidential adviser at baptisms and funerals; his expert advice was sought in all matters pertaining to lodge and church and social functions. In short, he represented in Tickfall colored society what Colonel Gaitskill did among the white people.
“Dis is whar you gits exputt advices on eve’ything,” Skeeter laughed, for he knew his standing among his people.
“I don’t want advices. I wants a hold-up man,” Mustard said gloomily.
“How come?”
“A feller stole somepin from me, an’ I wants somebody to steal it back,” Mustard explained.
“Bawl out wid it,” Skeeter snapped. “Don’t go beatin’ de bush aroun’ de debbil. Talk sense!”
Mustard hesitated for a long time, opened his mouth once or twice as if about to speak, shook his head, and seemed to think better of it.
“Well,” Skeeter snapped, “why don’t you tell it?”
“I don’t know how to begin,” Mustard sighed.
“Begin at de fust part an’ tell dat fust,” Skeeter ranted. “Is you been hittin’ Marse Tom’s bottle?”
Under this sort of prodding, continued for some time longer, Skeeter finally got Mustard started, and got the story. It is not necessary to repeat it, although Mustard’s way of telling what happened and what he thought of Popsy would be interesting.
“An’ now, Skeeter,” Mustard concluded, “de idear is dis: Popsy stole my rabbit-foot, an’ I want you to steal it back. Rob de ole man of my foot an’ fotch it back to me, an’ I’ll gib you one hundred dollars.”
“Pay in eggsvance?” Skeeter asked eagerly.
“No,” Mustard said.
“Bestow a little money in eggsvance to keep my mind int’rusted.”
“Suttinly. Ten dollars cash down—you got to pay it back ef you don’t do no good.”
“I’ll git de foot all right,” Skeeter said confidently.
“Don’t be too shore, Skeeter,” Mustard warned him. “You might git in jail, an’ ef you does, don’t ax me to he’p you.”
“You means to say ef I bust into ole Popsy’s cabin an’ steal de foot, an’ he gits me arrested, you won’t esplain nothin’ to de cote-house?”
“Nary a single esplain!” Mustard proclaimed solemnly. “Dat’s jes’ whut I means. I ain’t gwine git mixed up in dis no way an’ no how! Ef you gits in jail, I won’t open my mouth ef dey hangs you on a tree.”
Skeeter pulled out of his pocket the ten-dollar bill which Mustard had just given him and spread it out upon his knee, smoothing it with his yellow fingers.
“Gimme fo’ more ten-dollar............