It was not possible for Skeeter Butts to keep his mouth shut for twenty minutes, and the young man beside him, as he watched the long sandy road roll under the machine like a brown ribbon, was equally willing to talk. “Is you-alls kin to de Shinnys?” Skeeter asked.
“No.”
“Gwine dar on bizzness?”
“No—yes.”
“Dar ain’t nobody at dat house to do bizzness wid excusin’ Mr. Shinny an’ Miss Jew-ann.” No answer. “Which one am you doin’ bizzness wid, boss?”
“Which one do you think?”
“Of co’se, I’m jes’ guessin’—but ef I wus a white man I’d shore crave to talk bizzness wid de lady.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” the stranger laughed.
“I done got you located now, boss,” Skeeter chuckled delightedly. “You is courtin’.”
They turned suddenly to the left and ran into a dark road which lead through a section of the Little Moccasin Swamp. The wheels began to slip in the mire and Skeeter gave his entire attention to his automobile to prevent stalling in the mud. At last they reached firmer ground, and Skeeter returned to the conversation.
“Of co’se, I ain’t axin’ you fer no job, boss, but I’s been powerful assistance to a whole passel of young white mens dat’s come courtin’ in dis country.”
“What special help can you render?” the stranger asked.
“Expe’unce an’ conversation,” Skeeter replied promptly. “I done courted ’bout a millyum womens my own self, an’ I knows all de funny curves dey tries on. I gives exputt advice to all de niggers dat marries in Tickfall. I ain’t no marrifyin’ man myse’f, but I favors it an’ he’ps it along.”
“How can you render assistance through your conversation?” the young man smiled.
“Gosh, white man! You ain’t never done no courtin’ in de South, is you? Eve’y white man whut goes courtin’ hires a nigger to go wid him.”
“What for?”
“I see you don’t know nothin’,” Skeeter chuckled. “I esplains dis fack; eve’y white lady dat is wuth courtin’ is got some nigger gal wuckin’ fer her in de kitchen. Eve’y white man whut onderstan’s courtin’ hires a nigger boy to go wid him an’ wait on him while he courts de lady. Now, dat nigger boy goes into de kitchen an’ tells dat nigger gal whut a allfired good ketch fer de white lady his boss am—an’ de nigger gal tells dat nigger boy whut a histidious, highfalutin lady her mistiss is, an’ dat arrangement he’ps courtin’ long an’ does a large amount of great good.”
The young man laughed, and Skeeter bent over his wheel, watching the road for stumps as his machine plowed through some high marsh-grass.
“Now, I always gives my white man a good recommend at de fust off-startin’,” Skeeter continued. “I tells de nigger gal my white folks don’t drink none, don’t gamble none, is got plenty money, owns a big plantation, and hires plenty niggers. When us mens goes home, dat nigger gal tells her mistiss whut I said about her gen’leman friend. Don’t you think dat’s a good arrangement?”
“I don’t know,” the young man said dubiously, as they ran into a clearing and stopped in front of a wide-spreading farmhouse. “I’ll wait and see. I like to talk for myself, but I might need you yet.”
“I hope so, boss,” Skeeter smiled as he pocketed the two dollars which the young man extended. “You want me to wait fer you?”
“No.”
“Want me to come back fer you?”
“No.”
“A’right. Ef you needs me, jes’ ax fer Skeeter Butts. I’s got a good name ’mongst de white and de blacks.”
Miss Juan Chieniere sat upon the wide, white portico and watched, as the white man dismounted from the machine. She watched until Skeeter had turned and started back the way he had come. She watched the young man turn and enter the gate. All of this with indifference, which suddenly turned to an interest, which left her gas............