The Ten-foot Chain Part 11

"I would, too," Vinegar bellowed. "But I'd tie de yuther eend of dat plow-line to a tree an' jump off de worl'."

"I bet Pearline don't hanker to jump offen no worl'," Mustard Prophet proclaimed. "Look at her--she's jes' as happy as ef she had sense."

The eyes of the four men turned upon the girl appraisingly. Then Pearline remembered that a few moments before she had been sniffling and shedding tears. She was sure her eyes were red, and she knew the tears had washed all the white powder off her black nose. Quickly she rose to her feet, giving the ten-foot chain a sharp jerk.

"I hates to take you from yo' frien's, Plaster," she exclaimed, "but I'm got to go in. I cain't stand de glare."

Side by side they entered the cabin and the chain rattled as they shut the door.

And the evening and the morning were the first day.

IV.

"Stop scatterin' dem shavin's all over de floor, Plaster," Pearline commanded. "Ef folks comes to see us, I don't want dis house all literated up wid trash."

"I got to whittle while you sews, honey," Plaster said patiently. "I wanted to sot out in the yard, but you kep' me in de house all yistiddy afternoon because you said you had de headache from de glare."

"You kin whittle 'thout messin' up dis room," Pearline snapped.

"I likes a messy room," the man declared. "It looks like folks lived in it an' wus tol'able comfer'ble."

"You cain't mess up my house ef I got to come atter you an' clean up,"

the woman replied in a tone of finality.

A hound-dog stuck his wistful face into the door, seeking an invitation to enter.

"Dar's a frien' in need," the bridegroom proclaimed happily. "Come here, dawg!"

"Git out o' here!" the woman shrieked, kicking at the hound and sending him out with a howl. "I don't want dat houn' in dis house scratchin' his fleas all over de rooms. Look at de mud dat dawg tracked in. Come wadin'

through de bayou an' den come trackin' through de house!"

"Dar's some advantages in livin' a dawg's life, Pearline," Plaster sighed. "Even excusin' de fleas, dar's plenty advantage. A dawg, even a married dawg, he ain't tied up all de time an' kin run aroun' some."

"You aims to say you's gittin' tired stayin' here wid me?" Pearline snapped.

"No'm. Nothin' like dat. I's happy as a mosquiter on a pickaninny's nose."

"Ef you feels tied up like a houn'-dawg in de middle of de secont day, how does you expeck to feel in de middle of de secont year?"

Plaster thought it best not to venture a reply. He looked through the open door at the hound, lying under the china-berry tree in the glare, placidly scratching fleas, b.u.mping the elbow of his hind leg on the soft ground as he scratched.

"Don't you never answer no 'terrogations when I axes you?" Pearline asked sharply. "How you gwine feel in de middle of de secont year?"

Out of sheer perversity Plaster was disposed to tell her that he would feel dead and buried for at least a year before the time she mentioned, but instead he swallowed hard three times. His throat was dry and his tongue rasped his mouth like sandpaper. His answer, finally, was a song:

"She'll be sweeter as de days go by; She'll git sweeter as de moments fly; She'll git sweeter an' be dearer As to me she draws mo' nearer-- Sweeter as de days go by."

Thereupon Pearline jumped from her chair, got strangle-hold upon her husband, sat down on him, and impressed him forcibly in the next half-hour that his wife was a heavyweight and the day was extremely warm.

Plaster made such a hit with his improvised song that he repeated it three times, then gradually eased his wife off his lap and onto a chair.

"Don't you never shave yo' face, Plaster?" the lady asked when the love scene ended. "You feels like a stubby shoe-brush."

"No'm, my whiskers don't pester me none."

"But dey looks so bad," the woman urged.

"I cain't see 'em," Plaster grinned.

"I wants you to shave eve'y day while you is married to me."

"Huh," Plaster grunted.

"An I wants you to brush up yo' clothes, Plaster," the woman told him.

"You looks scandalous dusty."

"I looks as good as you does," Plaster retorted. "I's got powdered dirt on my clothes an' you's got powdered chalk on yo' nose. You looks to dang dressy fer me anyhow. I favors bein' dusty an' easy-feelin'."

The discussion ended by the appearance of three women who came to the open door from the highroad.

"Look at dat, now!" Plaster exclaimed. "Here comes three ole gals of mine. I co'ted 'em all servigerous but it didn't git me nothin'."

"Whut dey b.u.t.tin' in here fer?" Pearline asked in sharp tones.

"Mebbe dey'll tell us when dey comes in," Plaster chuckled.

The three women were the wives of Hitch Diamond, Figger Bush, and Vinegar Atts. When they entered they came straight to the point.

"Plaster, us ladies wants to talk to Sister Pearline Flunder Sickety in privut."

"Dat cain't be did, sisters," Plaster answered, looking them over suspiciously. "Whut does you want to tell my wife in privut?"

"Dat's a secret," Scootie Bush giggled.

Plaster looked at the women with an earnest effort to read their intentions. He recalled certain incidents in his a.s.sociation with the three in the old days of happy courts.h.i.+p that he preferred his wife should not know. He thought he saw mischief in the eyes of each of the women, especially Scootie and Goldie, and he shook his head.

"Nothin' ain't told in privut, sisters," he announced. "Leastwise, not till after de third day."

"Does you aim to say dat I cain't conversation in privut wid my frien's?" Pearline snapped.

"No'm not perzackly dat," Plaster hastened to explain. "But it looks kinder onpossible to me as long as I'm tied up wid you on dis chain."

"Git over again dat wall while dese ladies whispers to me," Pearline replied, giving him a push.

Plaster sat down and strained his ears to hear. What he heard was spasmodic giggles. He saw mischievous glances directed to himself. Once he saw his wife look straight at him reproachfully, as if she suspected that he was trying to overhear. There was half an hour of this, then the three giggling women took their departure.

"Whut did dem n.i.g.g.e.r women want, Pearline?" Plaster demanded.