Upon this absurd being's closer approach, Pee-Wee perceived it to be
a negro as thin and tall as a clothes pole, and so black that the
blackness of sin would seem white by comparison and the arctic night
like the blazing rays of midsummer. This was Licorice Stick whose home
was nowhere in particular, whose profession was everything and chiefly
nothing.

"I done seed yer comin'," he said with a smile a mile long which
shone in the surrounding darkness like the midnight sun of Norway.
His teeth were as conspicuous as tombstones, and on close inspection
Pee-Wee saw that his tattered regalia was held together by a system
of safety pins placed at strategic points. The terrible responsibility
of suspenders was borne by a single strand consisting of a key ring
chain connected with a shoe lace and this ran through a harness pin
which, if the worst came to the worst, would act as a sort of emergency
stop. Licorice Stick was built in the shape of a right angle, his feet
being almost as long as his body and they flapped down like carpet
beaters when he walked.

"You stayin' wib Uncle Eb?" he asked. "I seed yer yes' day. I done
hear yer start a sto."

"A what?" Pee-Wee asked, as they walked along together.

"A sto-- you sell eats, hey?"

"Oh, you mean a store," Pee-Wee said.

"I help you," said the lanky stranger; "me'n Pepsy, we good friends.
She hab to go back to dat workhouse, de bridge it say so. Dat bridge am