"I don't want to hit you."
"You won't get out of it that way. You're going to take a beating, see? Come on and lead at me."
"Cut it out," Nick said.
"All right, then, you bastard."
The little man looked down at Nick's feet. As he looked down the negro, who had followed behind him as he moved away from the fire, set himself and tapped him across the base of the skull. He fell forward and Bugs dropped the cloth-wrapped blackjack on the grass. The little man lay there, his face in the grass. The negro picked him up, his head hanging, and carried him to the fire. His face looked bad, the eyes open. Bugs laid him down gently.
"Will you bring me the water in the bucket, Mister Adams," he said. "I'm afraid I hit him just a little hard."
The negro splashed water with his hand on the man's face and pulled his ears gently. The eyes closed.
Bugs stood up.
"He's all right," he said. "There's nothing to worry about. I'm sorry, Mister Adams."
"It's all right." Nick was looking down at the little man. He saw the blackjack on the grass and picked it up. It had a flexible handle and
