in pap curtain’s career he had driven many carriages which transported over the parish of tickfall the candidates for the offices within the gift of the people. he now recalled to his profit that every prospective congressman, governor, and senator went from house to house, seeking out each voter, loudly enunciating their political principles, and soliciting their votes.
figger bush, on his way home to his dinner of hot cakes and sirup, found a little group of negroes standing on a corner in dirty-six, with pap curtain in the midst. pap gesticulated with his left hand, which held a lemon, and his harsh, snarling voice clearly enunciated the principles on which he hoped to be elected president of the tickfall uplift league.
figger slipped quietly around the little group, determined to go on his way. but pap would let no possible voter escape.
“ain’t dat so, brudder figger bush?” pap howled.
“whut?” figger asked, brought to a sudden halt.
“ain’t whut i been sayin’ true fer a fack?” pap demanded.
“i ain’t heerd nothin’,” figger mumbled, longing to escape.
pap walked over and laid an impressive and detaining hand upon figger’s shoulder. the crowd moved with pap and enclosed him, and figger found himself shut in on all sides.
“i been explavacatin’ dat de uplift league ain’t been run right. ain’t dat so?” pap snarled.
“’tain’t been run to suit me,” figger murmured knowing that he could escape more easily if he agreed with pap than would be possible if he started an argument.
“suttin, it ain’t!” pap howled triumphantly. “’tain’t been run to suit nobody. de dues is too high, de members of de league is too choosy about admittin’ new members, an’ a poor an’ meek-seemin’ man ain’t got no show. ain’t dat right?”
“shore is,” figger muttered, with some reluctance.
“you know how ’tis yo’ own self, figger!” pap howled, elated over figger’s endorsement of his position. “i remember once you wusn’t allowed to come inside de league meetin’ because you had on shoes ’thout no socks!”
“dat’s so,” figger agreed.
“i argufies dat wus a insult an’ a outrage!” pap snarled. “don’t you agree wid dem sentiments?”
“yes, suh.”
“i proclamates dat de members of de league oughter be allowed to dress as dey dern please,” pap howled. “let ’em come wid socks or widout socks—dem’s my docterines!”
a murmur of acquiescence arose from the little group, and pap with true oratorical instinct felt that he had shot off the one big set-piece of fireworks in his display, and that he had better quit at his climax. let it be said to his credit that he did not linger to shoot off a single lonesome skyrocket of eloquence, but closed his mouth right there, and laid hold upon figger’s arm and led him down the street and away from the rest of the group.
“i wants you to go to my cabin wid me, figger,” he whispered. “us oughter git togedder an’ whup out dem ins an’ git in ourselves.”
“scootie is expectin’ me home ’bout now,” figger remonstrated.
“i won’t keep you long,” pap assured him.
“whut you think is my chance to git elected?”
“i reckin you got some show ef you kin git enough niggers to vote fer you,” figger told him.
“it’s principles dat gits votes,” pap proclaimed. “i’s preachin’ de only docterine whut hits a nigger right—eve’y feller do as he please!”
“preachin’ don’t git no votes,” figger disagreed. “mostest votes is got by de man whut gits de mostest niggers to vote fer him and wuck fer him.”
“dat’s why i needs you, figger,” pap said, as they walked up the steps and sat down on a bench on curtain’s porch. “i wants you to come in wid me an he’p me git elected.”
“dar ain’t nothin’ in de race fer me,” figger declined promptly. “i don’t care who is de head leader of de league. i ain’t in de uplift bizzness. i’s in de barroom bizzness.”
“dar’s plenty in it fer you,” pap told him. “a presidunt is got to hab a vice-presidunt, ain’t he? i wants you to run wid me an’ be my vice-presidunt. in case i dies or gits in jail, you gits de presidunt job.”
figger bush drew in his breath sharply, then sat for a long time in silence, looking into the thick branches of an umbrella china-tree. honors had been suddenly thrust upon him. pap was old and his chance of dying was good. he was a “slick-head” negro, and his chance of getting into jail was better. it did not require much imagination for figger bush to see all obstacles cleared away, and behold himself as the honored president of the uplift league.
scootie’s hot cakes got cold; figger never did come home to eat them.
skeeter butts tended bar alone until sundown before he saw his partner again. when figger entered, skeeter howled:
“looky here, you done been gone long enough to go to a fun’ral an’ mourn de loss of yo’ best frien’. did dem hot cakes knock you out?”
“ain’t had none,” figger answered, glancing up in surprise at the sudden recollection of his lost dinner. “fergot all about ’em.”
“whut ails you? whar you been at? de fust notion you know, you’ll git fired!”
“ef i gits elected, i don’t keer ef——”
“ef you git—whut?” skeeter interrupted, his eyes bulging with astonishment, which rapidly changed to anger and disgust.
“pap curtain is candidated me to run fer vice-presidunt wid him,” figger explained. “ef pap dies or gits in jail, i gits to be plum’ presidunt. de chances is pretty good. pap digs wells fer a livin’ an’ he’s got plenty good chances to git blowed wid dynamite.”
“positively not!” skeeter howled. “dynamite might blow up whar pap wus, but ’tain’t never been quick enough to blow up whar pap is.”
“anyhow, pap’s a snoopy, slick-head nigger, an’ he’s got a good chance to git in jail,” figger continued.
“listen to yo’ fool talk!” skeeter ranted. “slick-heads don’t never git in jail. dey chooses ’em a pardner or a vice-presidunt, an’ it’s dat mud-head dat gits in jail.”
“anyways, i’ll shore be presidunt some of de time, because when de gram jury meets, pap always gits de trabbel-itch an’ leaves town,” figger rambled on.
overcome by an assortment of emotions, skeeter butts placed his feet on the table and let himself down in his chair until he was sitting on his shoulder-blades. he fanned himself with his derby hat and glared at figger fairly speechless with wrath.
“of co’se, i mought not git elected, but me ’n’ pap will gib ’em a good race——”
“you bet you ain’t gwine be elected,” skeeter shrieked. “you ain’t gwine be allowed to run! you’s de wuss loontick i ever did see.”
“i ain’t no loontick,” figger retorted. “de last words you said to me befo’ i lef’ fer dinner—an’ i shore regrets dat i loss dat dinner by deprivity—you said you hoped pap would git elected. now i ups an’ offers to he’p pap an’ you go poppin’ off——”
“stop talkin’ to me about pap curtain,” skeeter shouted. “dat ole brayin’ jackace is jes’ makin’ a noise to git hisself heard. he won’t lose nothin’ ef he gits beat, but ef you runs wid pap, us is gwine to lose half dis saloon bizzness because de yuther side won’t paternize us none.”
figger gasped for breath.
“i fergot that arrangement entirely, skeeter,” he exclaimed. “us wus gwine keep out of it. but dat won’t be so awful bad. pap an’ me an’ our crowd will suppote de hen-scratch.”
“i’s sorry you done mint us, figger,” skeeter said sadly as he arose to go out for his evening meal. “but i freely admits dat you wus a fool an’ didn’t know no better.”
