By the time Flournoy and Skeeter had reached the ground, the volunteer firemen had grown weary and gone home. The engines, hose-wagon, ladder-trucks, automobiles, all had gone home. “I’ll leave you here for the rest of the night, Skeeter,” Flournoy remarked as he turned his flash upon his watch to see the time. “I think Vinegar Atts must have delirium tremens, or something like that.”
“He didn’t git ’em at de Hen-Scratch, Marse John,” Skeeter said earnestly. “He buys all his drinks on credick, an’ I holds him down till he’s mighty nigh teetotal prohibitionist.”
“You mean that you are the prohibitionist and he is of necessity the almost total abstainer.”
“Yes, suh, it’s jes’ as much dat way as it is de way I said it.”
Half an hour later Skeeter sneaked up the steps, unlatched the trap-door, and pushed it open. Seven negroes were standing with anxious faces at the opening, and they welcomed Skeeter with exclamations of thanksgiving which sounded like a Shoofly prayer and praise service.
One by one they climbed down the ladder, then marched in single file to the kitchen.
Skeeter switched on the electric light, and the eight idiots stood about in dejected attitudes, sleepy, winking at the light, worn with excitement and fatigue, depressed by their frightful experiences.
Pap Curtain was a man of age and discretion; he had had various legal experiences which had put a special emphasis for him upon the motto: “Safety First.”
He looked his seven companions in evil over very searchingly, then turned to them with these words:
“You niggers cross yo’ heart an’ body!”
They made the sign.
“Repeat dese here words after me,” Pap snarled. Then the words came in short phrases, easy to repeat: “I solemnly swears on de Bible an’ all de opossums d............