during the night there was an exodus from tickfall on the part of certain citizens.
skeeter butts and figger bush left for the fishing-camp, where vinegar atts had taken refuge. they found pap curtain and mustard prophet sitting in front of a camp-fire, telling the pastor of the shoofly church the story of their rival race for president of the uplift league.
the place of assembly was known as the buzzard’s roost, a camp hidden deep in the little moccasin swamp on the banks of the dorfoche bayou. during the next day, their company was augmented by various negroes who nursed wounds and bruises acquired in the affray in the saloon. but they were all fugitives—and friends now.
followers of pap curtain and followers of mustard prophet dug bait and cut poles and rigged up fishing-lines and entered into friendly piscatorial rivalry and forgot all about the elevation of the poor, oppressed colored race. ten days passed in a happy vacation for the whole care-free bunch.
then little bit made his appearance at the buzzard’s roost with an important announcement:
“you won’t git arrested ef you comes in now, brudders. de police is done fergot all about you.”
“whut’s de good news in tickfall, little bit?” skeeter inquired.
“de election is done winned,” little bit told him.
“who am presidunt?” mustard prophet asked hopefully.
“ginny babe chew.”
a low moan of sorrow came from the throats of the crowd.
“yes, suh,” little bit continued. “de uplift league met an’ called a election immediate, an’ ginny got all de votes.”
“who else wus ’lected?” figger asked.
“me!” little bit grinned proudly. “i was ’lected fust high janitor at four dollars per mont’ pay. i’m de only man whut got a job. de lady folks took a look at dese here ladylike clothes an’ dey ’lected me unanermous.”
there was silence for quite a while. then skeeter asked:
“is de hen-scratch pretty much busted up, little bit?”
“naw. ’tain’t hurt any. i nailed de legs on de tables an’ patched up de broke chairs an’ us is jes’ as good off as ever.”
skeeter glanced toward his automobile and rose to his feet.
“i’s gwine back to town, niggers!” he announced. “you-all kin foller. de fust drink in de hen-scratch is a free-fer-all on me!”
a shout of applause greeted this.
“but listen, fellers,” skeeter said earnestly. “from dis time on, as fer as i’m concerned, pol’tics is nix!”
