The one negro in Tickfall who never dressed up was Pap Curtain. He was the well-digger and the grave-digger of that community, and he carried the marks of his trade upon him, clay on his clothes, on his hands, on his hat. But to-night for the first time in the memory of men, Pap was arrayed in gorgeous garments. He attracted much attention. “Whoo-pee, Pap!” Vinegar Atts bellowed. “I cain’t make up my mind whether you is a young nigger beginnin’ to show yo’ age, or a ole nigger tryin’ to look lesser dan yo’ real age.”
“I done heerd remarks like dat a plum’ plenty, Revun,” Pap snarled. “I admits dat I’s gwine on seventy odd year ole.”
“I didn’t say you wusn’t, brudder,” Vinegar said propitiatingly. “But whut do an ole nigger like you dress up like you fer? Dar ain’t no fun’ral to go to an’ us ain’t habin’ no lodge meetin’ to-night.”
“Dey’s yuther reasons fer dressin’ up,” Pap said with a grin.
Vinegar slapped his hand to his head and a sudden remembrance transformed his countenance.
“I like to fergot dat weddin’ complete! I onderstan’ now—you’s ragged out fer de weddin’. I muss be gittin’ ole an’ fergitful. An’ I got some questions to ax dat widder befo’ she steps off.”
Vinegar hurried away and Pap stood grinning after him. When the colored clergyman was lost to sight in the crowd, Pap turned away, mumbling to himself:
“Dat Vinegar Atts never did hab no sense. Now he raves an’ rambles when he talks wid his mouth. De Shoofly needs a new up-to-date preacher.”
Pap walked over to the tabernacle, sought out Mrs. Solly Skaggs, and bowing with exaggerated courtesy, he asked:
“Kin I dance dis here prize-dance wid you, Sister Solly?”
A shrill cackle of laughter rattled in Pap’s ear and he turned to look into the sardonic face of Skeeter Butts.
“I done saved you, Sister Solly,” Skeeter snickered.
“You done got left, Pap,” Solly remarked. “I’s dancin’ fer de prize wid Figger Bush.”
“You’s gwine to win de prize, too, Solly,” Skeeter said in a low tone. “Dat is, ef you dances wid Figger. You cain’t git a showin’ dancin’ wid Pap. Ole age an’ fatness makes a powerful poor combine in a dance.”
“We ain’t axin’ you fer no remarks,” Pap snarled, turning to Skeeter.
“Beg parding fer buttin’ in, Pap,” Skeeter laughed. “I wus jes’ surprised dat you wus takin’ up dancin’ at yo’ age.”
Skeeter turned away, and as Pap had failed to secure a partner, there was nothing for him to do but retire from the floor, lamenting the fact that he had paid a dime for the privilege of dancing and lost his money. He sat down on a bench on the edge of the throng and gave himself up to deep meditation.
“I got lef’ dat time,” he grumbled to himself. “But dis am jes’ de fust day of de frolic. I got plenty time yit. Fur as I know, I’s de only man aimin’ fer her, an’ de only onmarried man in de town.”
He lighted a pipe and sat smoking for five minutes. Then a new idea came:
“Wash Jones is de high boss of dis show, an’ I reckin Wash knows de widder. I oughter git Wash to he’p me hook her.”
At this point Popsy Spout wandered up to the bench and addressed Pap.
“I done loss my way in dese groun’s Pap,” he complained. “Dar’s so many wagins an’ buggies an’ niggers dat I can’t find de cabin whar I sleeps at.”
“You ain’t aimin’ to sleep now, is you?” Pap asked.
“I goes to bed reg’lar ’bout dis time.”
“Eve’ybody is stayin’ up to see de dance,” Pap said.
“I’s ag’in dancin’,” Popsy declared, with disgust in his tones. “Me an’ none of my kinnery follers atter de sinful dance. I done teached ’em better.”
“Teached who better?” Pap asked quickly, planning for revenge.
“Figger an’ Scootie,” Popsy declared. “Bofe of dem young folks abstains from de dance.”
“Who say dey does?”
“I says,” Popsy replied impatiently.
“Whut would you do ef you wuster see Figger dancin’ to-night, Popsy?” Pap asked in wheedling tones.
“I’d bust his head wid my stick an’ I wouldn’t let him inherit none of my dollars, an’ I’d drive him an’ his nigger wife outen my cabin,” the old man announced irately.
“I’s kinder skeart Figger is a deceitful nigger, Popsy,” Pap said in a bitter voice. “I happens to know dat he is gwine dance in de prize-dance to-night.”
“’Tain’t so,” Popsy snapped. “I done tole Figger to go to bed.”
The music started in the pavilion and Pap rose to his feet.
“Come wid me, Popsy,” Pap said. “I’ll show you dat Figger ain’t as good as you thinks he is.”
On the edge of the crowd Popsy shaded his age-dimmed eyes with the palm of his hand and watched the swaying forms until he recognized Figger Bush. Figger’s dancing partner was the easiest thing to see on the floor, but F............