"Yay! I wouldn't give a five-for-a-cent marble for your whole store," said Sam. "Would you, Penrod?"
"Not for ten of 'em; not for a million of 'em! _I_'m goin' to have----"
"Wait!" clamoured Maurice. "You'd be foolish, because they'd be a toy deportment in my store where they'd be a hunderd marbles! So, how much would you think your five-for-a-cent marble counts for? And when I'm keepin' my store I'm goin' to get married."
"Yay!" shrieked Sam derisively. "MARRIED! Listen!"
Penrod and Herman joined in the howl of contempt.
"Certumly I'll get married," asserted Maurice stoutly. "I'll get married to Marjorie Jones. She likes me awful good, and I'm her beau."
"What makes you think so?" inquired Penrod in a cryptic voice.
"Because she's my beau, too," came the prompt answer. "I'm her beau because she's my beau; I guess that's plenty reason!
I'll get married to her as soon as I get my store running nice."
Penrod looked upon him darkly, but, for the moment, held his peace.
"Married!" jeered Sam Williams. "Married to Marjorie Jones!
You're the only boy I ever heard say he was going to get married.
I wouldn't get married for--why, I wouldn't for--for----" Unable to think of any inducement the mere mention of which would not be ridiculously incommensurate, he proceeded: "I wouldn't do it!
What you want to get married for? What do married people do, except just come home tired, and worry around and kind of scold?
You better not do it, M'rice; you'll be mighty sorry."
"Everybody gets married," stated Maurice, holding his ground.
"They gotta."
"I'll bet _I_ don't!" Sam returned hotly. "They better catch me before they tell ME I have to. Anyway, I bet nobody has to get married unless they want to."
"They do, too," insisted Maurice. "They GOTTA!"
"Who told you?"
"Look at what my own papa told me!" cried Maurice, heated with argument. "Didn't he tell me your papa had to marry your mamma, or else he never'd got to handle a cent of her money?
Certumly, people gotta marry. Everybody. You don't know anybody over twenty years old that isn't married--except maybe teachers."
"Look at policemen!" shouted Sam triumphantly. `You don't s'pose anybody can make policemen get married, I reckon, do you?"
"Well, policemen, maybe," Maurice was forced to admit.
"Policemen and teachers don't, but everybody else gotta."
"Well, I'll be a policeman," said Sam. "THEN I guess they won't come around tellin' me I have to get married. What you goin' to be, Penrod?"
"Chief police," said the laconic Penrod.
"What you?" Sam inquired of quiet Georgie Bassett.
"I am going to be," said Georgie, consciously, "a minister."
This announcement created a sensation so profound that it was followed by silence. Herman was the first to speak.
"You mean preachuh?" he asked incredulously. "You go' PREACH?"
"Yes," answered Georgie, looking like Saint Cecilia at the organ.
Herman was impressed. "You know all 'at preachuh talk?"
"I'm going to learn it," said Georgie simply.
"How loud kin you holler?" asked Herman doubtfully.
"He can't holler at all," Penrod interposed with scorn. "He hollers like a girl. He's the poorest hollerer in town!"
Herman shook his head. Evidently he thought Georgie's chance of being ordained very slender. Nevertheless, a final question put to the candidate by the coloured expert seemed to admit one ray of hope.
"How good kin you clim a pole?"
"He can't climb one at all," Penrod answered for Georgie.
"Over at Sam's turning-pole you ought to see him try to----"
"Preachers don't have to climb poles," Georgie said with dignity.
"GOOD ones do," declared Herman. "Bes' one ev' _I_ hear, he clim up an' down same as a circus man. One n'em big 'vivals outen whens we livin' on a fahm, preachuh clim big pole right in a middle o' the church, what was to hol' roof up. He clim way high up, an' holler: `Goin' to heavum, goin' to heavum, goin' to heavum NOW. Hallelujah, praise my Lawd!' An' he slide down little, an' holler: `Devil's got a hol' o' my coat-tails; devil tryin' to drag me down! Sinnuhs, take wawnun!
Devil got a hol' o' my coat-tails; I'm a-goin' to hell, oh Lawd!'
Nex', he clim up little mo', an' yell an' holler: `Done shuck ole devil loose; goin' straight to heavum agin! Goin' to heavum, goin' to heavum, my Lawd!' Nex', he slide down some mo' an' holler, `Leggo my coat-tails, ole devil! Goin' to hell agin, sinnuhs! Goin' straight to hell, my Lawd!' An' he clim an' he slide, an' he slide, an' he clim, an' all time holler: `Now 'm a-goin' to heavum; now 'm a-goin' to hell! Goin'to heavum, heavum, heavum, my Lawd!' Las' he slide all a-way down, jes' a-squallin' an' a-kickin' an' a-rarin' up an' squealin', `Goin' to hell. Goin' to hell! Ole Satum got my soul! Goin' to hell! Goin' to hell! Goin' to hell, hell, hell!"
Herman possessed that extraordinary facility for vivid acting which is the great native gift of his race, and he enchained his listeners. They sat fascinated and spellbound.
"Herman, tell that again!" said Penrod, breathlessly.
