eyes.
I coughed and scuffled my feet, and Ken looked up from under his hatbrim. Then he said, 'Why, I'll be god-danged, if it ain't the high sheriff of Potts County!' And he rolled his chair over to me and held out his hand.
'Set down, set down, Nick,' he said, and! sat down in one of the swivel chairs. 'Buck, wake up and meet a friend of mine.'
Buck was already awake, as it turned out, so he rolled over and shook hands like Ken had. Then, Ken kind of jerked his head at him, and Buck rolled over to the desk and got out a quart of white corn and a handful of stogies.
'This here Buck is the smartest deputy I got,' Ken said, as we all had a drink and lit up. 'Got a lot of initiative, Buck has. Don't have to tell him every god-danged thing he's supposed to do like you would some fellas.'
Buck said all he'd ever done was to just try to do his duty, and Ken said, no, sir, he was smart.
'Like old Nick here. That's why he's sheriff of the forty-seventh largest county in this state.'
'Yeah?' Buck said. 'I didn't know they was but forty-seven counties in the state.'
'Pre-zackly!' Ken said, sort of frowning at him. 'How is things in Pottsville these days, Nick? Still booming?'
'Well, no,' I said. 'I wouldn't hardly say that was booming. Pottsville ain't exactly no real metropolis like you got here.'
'Is that a fack?' Ken said. 'Guess my recollection ain't as good as it used to be. Just how big is Pottsville, anyways?'
'Well, sir,' I said, 'there's a road sign just outside of town that says 'Pop. 1280,' so I guess that's about it. Twelve hundred and eighty souls.'
'Twelve hundred and eighty souls, huh? Is them souls supposed to have people to go with 'em?'
'Well, yeah,' I said, 'that's what I meant. It was just another way of saying twelve hundred and eighty people.'
We all had a couple more drinks, and Buck tossed his stogie in a gaboon and cut himself a chaw; and Ken said I wasn't pre-zackly correct in saying that twelve hundred and eighty souls was the same as twelve hundred and eighty people.
'Ain't that right, Buck?' Ken said, giving him a nod.
'Kee-rect!' Buck said. 'You're a thousand per cent right, Ken!'
'Natcherly! So just tell old Nick why I am.'
'Shorely,' Buck said, turning toward me. 'Y'see it's this way, Nick. That twelve hundred and eighty would be countin' niggers-them Yankee lawmakers force us to count 'em-and niggers ain't got no souls. Right, Ken?'
'Kee-rect!' Ken said.
'Well, now, I don't know about that,' I said. 'I wouldn't come out flat and say you fellas was wrong, but I sure don't reckon I can agree with you neither. I mean, well, just how come you say that colored folks don't have souls?'
'Because they don't, that's why.'
'But why don't they?' I said.
'Tell him, Buck. Make old Nick here see the light,' Ken said.
'Why, shorely,' Buck said. 'Y'see, it's this way, Nick. Niggers ain't got no souls because they ain't really people.'
'They ain't?' I said.
'Why, o' course not. Most everybody knows that.'
'But if they ain't people, what are they?'
'Niggers, just niggers, that's all. That's why folks refer to 'em as niggers instead of people.'
Buck and Ken nodded at me, as if to say there wasn't anything more to be said on this subject. I took another pull at the bottle and passed it around.
'Well, looky here, now,' I said. 'How about this? My mama died almost as soon as I was born, so I was put to suck with a colored mammy. Wouldn't be alive today except for her sucklin' me. Now, if that don't prove-'
'No, it don't,' Ken broke in. 'That don't prove a thing. After all, you could have sucked titty from a cow, but you can't say that cows is people.'
'Well, maybe not,' I said. 'But that ain't the only point of similarity. I've had certain relations with colored gals that I sure wouldn't have with a cow, and-'
'But you could,' Ken said. 'You could. We got a fella over in the jail right now for pleasurin' a pig.'
'Well, I'll be dogged,' I said, because I'd heard of things like that but I never had known of no actual cases. 'What kind of charges you makin' against him?'
Buck said maybe they could charge him with rape. Ken gave him a kind of blank look and said no, they might not be able to make that kind of charge stick.
'After all, he might claim he had the pig's consent, and then where would we be?'
'Aw,' said Buck. 'Aw, now, Ken.'
Ken said, 'What you mean, aw, now. You tryin' to tell me that animals can't understand what you're sayin' to 'em? Why, god-dang it, I got me this little ol' beagle-terrier, and I can say, 'Boy, you want to go catch some rats?' and he'll leap all over me, barkin' and whinin' and licking my face. Meaning, natcherly, that he does want to go after rats. Or I can say, 'Boy, you want me to take a stick to you?' an' he'll slink off in a corner with his tail between his legs. Meanin' he don't want me to take a stick to him. An'-'
'Well, sure,' Buck said. 'But-'
'God-dang it!' Ken said. 'Shut up when I'm talking! What the hell's wrong with you, anyways? Here I go an' tell Nick what a smart fella you are, and god-dang if you don't make a liar out of me right in front of him!'
Buck got kind of red in the face, and said he was sure sorry. He sure hadn't meant to contradict Ken. 'I can see just how it happened, now that you explained it to me. This fella, he probably says to the pig, 'How about a little you-know-what, Piggie?' and the pig started squealing and twitchin' her tail, meanin' she was ready whenever he was.'
'O' course, that's the way it happened!' Ken scowled. 'So what'd you mean by disputin' me? Why for was you telling me he couldn't have had the pig's consent, and making a god-danged idjit out of yourself in front of a visitin' sheriff? I tell you somethin', Buck,' Ken went on, 'I was entertainin' some pretty high hopes for you. Almost had me convinced you was a white man with good sense instead of one of these big-mouth smart-alecks. But now I don't know; I purely don't know. 'Bout all I can say is you shore better watch your step from now on.'
'I shore will. I'm shore sorry, Ken,' Buck said.
'I mean it! I mean every god-danged word of it!' Ken frowned at him. 'You ever go disputin' or contradictin' me again, an' you'll be out in the street scratching horse turds with the sparrows. Or maybe you think you won't be, huh? Maybe you're gonna start arguin' again, tellin' me you won't be out fighting them birds for turds? Answer me, you goddanged liver-lipped idjit!'
Buck sort of choked for a moment, and then he said of course Ken was right. 'You say the word, Ken, an' that's pre-zackly what I'd be doin'.'
'Doin' what? Speak up, god-dang it!'
'S-Scratchin' '-Buck choked again-'scratchin' horse turds with the sparrers.'
'The hot, steamy kind, right? Right?'
'Right,' Buck mumbled. 'You're a thousand per cent right, Ken. I-I reckon there ain't nothin' less
