Chapter VII: Button Hook

Deeply embarrassed by his experience, and sorely perplexed over his difficulties, Tick Hush wandered down toward that portion of the town occupied by the whites, and stopped short in his meditations before a drug-store which carried a stock of cheap jewelry. He held his retrieved five-dollar bill in his sweating palm and looked into the dusty show-window.

“Dat nigger actor gimme one good tip,” he murmured. “I’ll buy my gal a real nice present, and take it to her when I git ready to express my bizzness.”

He entered the drug-store timidly and leaned against a show-case.

“What you want, colored man?” the clerk asked.

“I wants a little gold fitten fer a cullud lady to wear on her,” Tick grinned diffidently.

“Everything in this show-case comes up to your specifications in one respect,” the clerk said flippantly. “There’s mighty little gold about the stuff. What do you fancy?”

“Dunno, suh. I wants a view from you on dat.”

“I’ve got it,” the clerk said, as he lifted out a piece of jewelry and held it up for inspection. “A wrist watch--just the thing--all the women wear them and every woman is crazy about them.”

“How much do dat’n cost?” Tick inquired.

“Four-ninety-eight--let you have it for five dollars, cash!” the clerk responded.

“Thank ’e, suh. Dat’s about de size of my little dab of money. Please wrop it up in a real nice box.”

The clerk polished the piece of jewelry, wrapped it neatly, and Tick started for the home of Button Hook with the package in his hip pocket.

Button lived on the edge of the negro settlement known as Hell’s Half-Acre, and Tick had no trouble learning whether or not she was at home, for he heard her voice, as high and as strident as the call of the katydid, singing a song which assured him:

* * * * *

“O love’s my meat, an’ love’s my drink, an’ love’s my daily fare--an’ Love an’ me walks han’ in han’ when I has a han’ to spare!”

* * * * *

Tick’s method of presenting her with the wristwatch was unique. He walked into the yard and knocked loudly upon the front door. Then he ran down to the street, laid his package in a conspicuous place on top of the gatepost, and hid behind a convenient stump upon the other side of the road to watch proceedings.

The girl came to the door and looked out. She spied the package and ran down after it. She unwrapped it, gave a squeal of delight, and ran back into the house.

“Dat made a fine hit!” Tick exclaimed, cutting a caper behind the stump.

He waited about ten minutes, then announced to himself:

“I reckin it’s ’bout time I wus gwine in an’ tellin’ her who sont her dat gift.”

He entered the yard and knocked loudly upon the door. Button Hook responded and Tick entered the house.

“Did you git a leetle somepin a while ago, Button?” he began.

“Naw,” the girl responded.

“Didn’t nobody leave you nothin’ on dat gatepost out dar?” Tick asked in a surprised tone.

“Naw!” the girl answered.

She sat before him quietly, a small, tan-colored woman, with small eyes, small hands, and features as dull and expressionless as the face of a rag doll.

“My gosh,” Tick howled. “Whut become of dat leetle gold wrist-watch I lef’ on dat gatepost?”

“Did you leave one out dar?” Button asked innocently.

“Suttinly!” Tick said. “An’ you got it, too. I know, because I peeped at you from behime a stump.”

“Dat’s right!” Button snickered.

“Whar is it?” Tick demanded.

“It didn’t hab no name on it an’ maw claimed it wus her’n,” she told him.

“Huh,” Tick grunted in despair. “Dat wus fer you--it was my weddin’ present to you.”

“Yo’--which?” the girl inquired in a startled tone.

“Yes’m,” Tick plunged on. “You an’ me is gwine git married. It’s Marse Tom Gaitskill’s awders--de Kunnel, an’ Jedge Henry Lanark, an’ Skeeter Butts--dey all agrees dat it’s shore got to be.”

The girl took a breath of astonishment which threatened to consume all the air in the room.

“Marse Tom says we kin live on de pest-house plantation. Dem deaders buried aroun’ dar won’t gib us no ketchin’ disease. We got a good cabin an’ plenty to eat, an’ I’ll make plenty dollars.”

Then while Button Hook still gasped for air, Tick stood up. He assumed Dazzle Zenor’s best stage manner, and swept down upon Button Hook to give her an imitation of Dazzle Zenor’s best stage kiss.

And Button did just what Tick had done--she bolted.

She ran out of the room and left Tick to embrace the empty air.

“Huh!” Tick grunted. “Dazzle should had gib me anodder lesson so I would know whut to do now.”

The windows in the room were closed tight, and Tick felt extremely warm. He tramped the floor for a few minutes, then took off his coat and hung it across the back of a chair.

“I reckin I better make myse’f at home an’ wait till Buttons gits back,” he soliloquized. “I don’t know whut else to do. Mebbe she’ll come back some time to-day.”

In the rear of the house, Button’s father was lying asleep on a pallet on the porch. He was an old man with long woolly hair, and long cork-screw whiskers; his feet were bare, and his body was clothed with a pair of ragged pantaloons and a soiled, patched, yellowish undershirt.

“Wake up, pap,” Button panted when she ran out of the room where Tick had tried to kiss her. “I got somepin to tell you.”

“Whut’s dat?” her parent inquired, rubbing his hands over his face and head and rumpling his hair and whiskers into a frightful disorder. “Whut you want?”

“A nigger man named Tick Hush is asettin’ in de front room an’ he wants to borrer yo’ shotgun,” Button told him.

“Shore!” old Hook exclaimed. “I’ll loant Ticky de gun!”

He hastily lifted the gun down from two nails upon the kitchen wall, and in his frightful disarray, he went prancing into the front sitting-room. When he appeared in the doorway, Tick Hush looked up and beheld a barefooted, shirtless old man, with disheveled hair and beard, holding a double-barreled shotgun, and Tick had just made an unsuccessful attempt to kiss that old gentleman’s lovely daughter!

“My Gawd!” Tick howled. “Somebody is got to take my place right now--it’s vacant!”

He went through the nearest window without taking the trouble to raise the sash. There was a crash of glass, and Tick picked himself up from the ground where he had fallen, and broke the world’s record for a half-mile dash.

He staggered into the Hen-Scratch saloon in the last stages of exhaustion and sank down weakly upon a chair.

Skeeter came and looked the fugitive over. His clothes were torn and covered with dust, and his face and head were bleeding from half a dozen slight cuts.

“Is you hurted, Ticky?” Skeeter asked sympathetically.

“I axed Button to marry me,” Tick panted. “I ain’t come away from no place as fast sence dat bear chased me through de swamp las’ year.”

“Did she take on much?” Skeeter snickered.

“Naw,” Tick growled. “Her ole pap chased me wid a shotgun. I loped plum’ acrost deir chicken-yard wid a winder sash hung aroun’ my neck like a dawg-collar.”

Skeeter bean to laugh.

“’Tain’t no use to cackle, Skeeter,” Tick exclaimed. “I’s gwine up to Marse Tom Gaitskill’s an’ tell him dat I won’t take charge of dat pest-house plantation at no price. I ain’t gwine be pestered to death messin’ wid mattermony no longer.”

“Dat’s too bad,” Skeeter said.

Then he stopped with mouth agape.

The door of the saloon opened, and Button Hook was standing in the room.

Her afterthought had been better than her forethought. She had considered Tick’s offer of marriage as soon as her father had chased him off the place, and had decided to take it. So now, she was hunting for her fugitive lover to entice him to renew his suit.

“Fer Heaven’s sake, Ticky,” she began, “whut made you run off so soon?”

“I needed some place fer to git,” Ticky growled. “Dat ole varmint wus fixin’ to shoot me wid dat gun.”

“’Tain’t so!” Button exclaimed. “He jes’ wanted to cornverse you a little about de pest-house plantation--an’ you busted a whole winder outen our cabin.”

“I shore busted it,” Tick agreed. “I’s gwine bust one eve’y time a nigger wants to cornverse me wid a shotgun.”

“Dat wus jes’ a joke, Ticky,” Button smiled, patting him on the shirt-sleeve where a slight cut showed the red. “I was prankin’ wid you all de time. Maw didn’t had dat watch; I had it hid behime de big clock in de very room whar you wus settin’ at.”

Button dropped her left hand down Tick’s arm until it rested upon his wrist. Tick looked, and saw his wrist watch clasped around her small brown arm.

“Did you really mean whut you wus sayin’ in my house, Ticky?” she asked.

“Yes’m,” Tick replied.

“I’m wid you in dat offer, Ticky,” Button said easily. “I says--Yes!”

“Listen to dat word!” Skeeter Butts exploded. “De arrangements is all sottled up--you’s got her, Ticky!”

Tick looked like a man who had drawn a grand prize in the lottery.

“Honey, you shore is lifted a weight offen my mind,” he assured her.

“I’s gwine expeck you up at my house to-night, Ticky,” Button told him as she started out. “You lef’ yo’ coat hangin’ on a chair in de front settin’-room an’ you got to come an’ git it.”

A moment after she had passed out Skeeter exclaimed:

“Telephome Marse Tom Gaitskill, Ticky. Tell him to git out dem pair of cotehouse licenses befo’ de clerk’s office shuts up. Hurry!”