When Shin Bone revealed his trouble to Skeeter Butts, the situation delighted the very soul of the barkeeper. “At de fust off-startin’, my notion is dat a lot of hongry niggers is hangin’ aroun’ yo’ kitchen beggin’ fer free vittles,” he told Shin. “Whiffle ain’t figgerin’ on bustin’ up her happy home by runnin’ off wid some yuther nigger man. I know she ain’t got no husbunt to brag on, but she done de best she could at de time, an’ husbunts ain’t improved so much dat she aims to lop you off.”
“Kin you kinder watch aroun’ an’ see who it is dat’s hangin’ aroun’ de kitchen?” Shin asked.
“Why don’t you do yo’ own watchin’?”
“I cain’t git close enough to see.”
“Stay fur away an’ look,” Skeeter suggested.
He rose, walked around the bar, and brought out a pair of army field-glasses enclosed in a leather case. They were handsome things. He adjusted the lenses to his vision, handed them to Shin Bone and indicated an old tree whose dead limbs pointed upward like the fingers of a gnarled and twisted hand in the Little Mocassin Swamp, three miles away. Shin placed the glasses to his eyes and uttered a yell of surprise.
“My Lawd!” he exclaimed. “I see a red-head woodpecker settin’ on one of dem limbs!”
“Suttinly,” Skeeter said. “You kin look jes’ as fur as you wants to when y............