Chapter II: Hitch Has Vague Misgivings

When Captain Lemuel Manse and his wife had been whirled away in the Gaitskill automobile to the Tickfall landing where their yacht awaited them in the Mississippi River, Gaitskill sat down on the porch to think over his troubles.

Diada stood before him on the lawn, motionless and ugly as a heathen idol, her eyes still watching the purple haze above the swamp.

“Something over in that swamp has got to be hypnotized,” Gaitskill muttered to himself as he watched her. “When she gets a little tame I’ll take her for a trip to the hog-camp. I suppose she never saw anything but a cocoanut palm.”

He leaned over the porch railing; looked back toward the rear of the house; cupped his hands around his mouth like a trumpet, and bellowed:

“Oh, Hitch! Come here! Hear me!”

“Yes, suh, white folks! Comin’! Comin’ wid a looseness; comin’ right now!”

Hitch came, but he chose a very unusual route--through the house. Arriving at the door which admitted him to the porch where Gaitskill sat, he stopped, peeped at Gaitskill, then peeped at Diada, and ducked back into the room.

“Come here, Hitch!” Gaitskill commanded.

“Excuse me, Marse Tom,” Hitch muttered. “I’s axin’ you whut you wants?”

“Come out here! What in the name of mud is the matter with you?” Gaitskill bawled.

Hitch came out, his ponderous feet paddling along the floor like a lame duck, while his eyes never strayed from the broad, hunched back of Diada.

“’Scuse me, Marse Tom,” Hitch pleaded. “Dat new she-queen you’s hired to dec’rate dat lawn is done deprive me of my goat!”

“Don’t be a fool, Hitch!” Gaitskill snapped, smothering a desire to laugh. “That nigger woman is Captain Lemuel Manse’s house-servant. She’ll be here with us two weeks. I want you and Hopey to treat her kindly and make her feel at home.”

“Boss, is she gentle?” Hitch asked as if he were alluding to a newly purchased horse.

“Certainly,” Gaitskill assured him. “What’s the matter with you? Diada is just a nigger woman like Hopey.”

“Mebbe so suh,” Hitch mumbled. “But she shore don’t look like Hopey in looks.”

“Take her around to the kitchen and give her something to eat,” Gaitskill commanded.

“Yes, suh,” Hitch answered obediently, but his tone expressed the exact denial of his words, and he stood right where he was. “Yes, suh; I’ll fetch her aroun’ to de kitchen--er, uh--atter while--soon’s I kin git aroun’ to it. Ole miss tole me to go down to de sto’house right now----”

“She told you nothing of the sort!” Gaitskill snapped. “Take Diada to the kitchen. Tell Hopey I said feed her. Hear me?”

Hitch’s whole body moved in the general direction of Diada, with the exception of his feet. He swayed toward her like a pendulum, and then swung back. He took a big breath, looked at Gaitskill, and muttered:

“Lawdamussy, Marse Tom, dat woman is _wild_; dat’s a plum’ hawg-wild nigger, fer shore! An’, boss, I tells you honest--ef any cullud pusson in de worl’ is wilder dan whut I is, I don’t wanter had nothin’ to do wid ’em.”

“Thunderation!” Gaitskill roared. “Come down here in the yard with me!”

“Yes, suh; I’s right on yo’ hip. I’ll foller as fur as you leads de way.”

Gaitskill laid his hand upon Diada’s arm, and she turned and looked at him with a suspicious glance, like the expression in the eyes of a dog when petted by a stranger. Hitch backed away.

“Look out, Marse Tom!” Hitch howled. “She’s gittin’ ready to kick!”

In a moment Diada’s eyes changed to a milder expression, and Gaitskill patted her on the shoulder about as he would caress the side of a horse. Seeing this, Hitch crept up nearer, put out his hand and touched Diada’s wrist.

“She feels like a shore-’nuff, nachel-bawn nigger, Marse Tom,” he exclaimed. “Kin she talk?”

“Yes,” Gaitskill told him. “But she can’t talk our language, Hitch. She hasn’t been in this country long. You’ll have to make signs to her and talk to her that way.”

“Ax her to say somepin’, Marse Tom!” Hitch begged. “Lemme hear how she sounds!”

Gaitskill had not the remotest idea how to make her talk; in fact, he had never heard the sound of her voice. But he did not intend to reveal his ignorance to Hitch Diamond.

“No,” he said. “She can talk in the kitchen. Take her around to Hopey.”

Hitch walked up, crooked his forefinger, hung it lightly in the sleeve of Diada’s dress, and murmured:

“Come along with me, Sister Diada--foller along atter brudder Hitchie Diamond--us’ll go git some hot vittles!”

Diada took one step forward; Hitch winced as if anticipating a kick and stopped.

“Fer de Lawd’s sake, Marse Tom!” he howled. “I don’t _want_ dis strange cullud pusson walking behine me! You lead her to de kitchen an’ lemme fetch up de rearwards!”

Gaitskill laughed, caught Diada by the sleeve, and led her to the kitchen.

Hopey, the cook, had just taken a pan of hot biscuit out of the oven when the door opened and Diada came in, filling the doorway like a picture in a frame and concealing Mr. Gaitskill, who walked behind her. Hopey’s biscuit-pan hit the floor with a bang, the biscuit rolled around the kitchen, and Hopey sank down in a heap on the nearest chair, covering her head with her flour-sprinkled apron.

“Oh, my Lawd,” she said, rocking herself from side to side and whimpering like a puppy. “De ole debbil is done come to git me at last!”

“Shut up, Hopey!” Gaitskill commanded. “Get up from there!”

“Oh, Marse Tom!” Hopey whooped. “Is de Ole Scratch gone?”

“Look up, Hopey, an’ trus’ de Lawd!” Hitch Diamond boomed, walking over and snatching the apron off of Hopey’s head. “Marse Tom is done hired a new fancy cook. He tole me she wus jes’ like you. Take a look, Hopey!”

Thus encouraged, Hopey raised her head. Then her wide, easy-smiling mouth widened into a laugh which shook the rafters of the house.

“Marse Tom,” she giggled, “you shore is one smart white man. You been blimblammin’ me fer twenty year because I feeds eve’y nigger whut pokes his head in my kitchen do’. You ain’t gotter feed dem mens no mo’, Marse Tom! Des new cook ain’t gwine be attracksome to nobody!”

“Hitch is lying to you, Hopey,” Gaitskill laughed, glad to find that Hopey was not afraid of Diada. “Diada is here for just a short visit. I want you and Hitch to take care of her for the next two weeks. Feed her something right now!”

Gaitskill walked through the house, seized his hat and hurried down-town. He had enough of Diada and the negroes, and if anything happened he wanted to be absent.

In the kitchen, Hopey promptly assumed the rôle of hostess and boss.

“Pick up dem biscuits, Diader!” she commanded, pointing to the floor. “You made me drap ’em, now pick ’em up! You got to he’p me eat ’em, too!”

Diada, getting more information from Hopey’s gestures than from her speech, stooped down, picked up a hot biscuit, passed it under her nose, snorted with intense disgust, and hurled the biscuit from her with such force that it flattened against the wall and stuck there.

“Hey, dar! Whut you mean, nigger?” Hopey whooped. “Stop flinging dat biscuit aroun’ like it wus a gob of mud!”

Diada glanced around and pounced upon the only thing in the kitchen with which she was familiar--a carving knife with a long steel blade. She thrust it into the folds of her dress.

“Hol’ on, dar, sister!” Hopey admonished her. “Marse Tom don’t allow no stealin’ niggers aroun’ him. Fetch out dat butcher-knife! Excusin’ dat, I gotter slice some ham fer dinner.”

Understanding the gestures, Diada returned the knife and Hopey proceeded to slice a large ham. She laid four large cuts upon a plate, then turned her back for a moment. When she looked again Diada had devoured every slice and was hacking at the big ham with the carving knife!

“Whoop-ee!” Hopey howled, rushing at Diada. “Stop chawin’ on dat raw ham! Dat’ll gib you _worms_, nigger!”

But Diada did not heed this warning. She cut off a large hunk of the ham, then sat down and devoured it like a dog.

“Hitch,” Hopey demanded, watching Diada with popping eyeballs, “whut kind of nigger is dis?”

“I dunno,” Hitch murmured. “She muss be some new kind of nigger. She come from furin parts.”

“I can’t cook no vittles as long as I’s got to look at dis circus coon,” Hopey declared. “I’s gwine up-stairs an’ tell ole Mis’ Mildred!”

“Don’t leave her here wid me all by myse’f, Hopey,” Hitch begged. “Take her wid you!”

Hopey walked over and laid her hand on Diada’s arm.

“Come on here, you ole fool,” she said. “Why don’t you ack like nobody else?”