Reverend Short's thin, black-clad body shook with fury like a sapling in a gale.

"I told you I was Reverend Short," he sputtered.

He had a mouth shaped like that of a catfish, and when he talked he sprayed spit over Dulcy, who had come over to stand with her arm about Mamie's shoulder.

She drew back angrily and wiped her face with the tiny black silk handkerchief that she held in her hand and that represented her dress of mourning.

"Quit spitting on me," she said harshly.

"He didn't mean to spit on you, honey," Mamie said soothingly.

" Po' sinner stands a-trembling…" Deep South shouted.

Reverend Short's body twitched convulsively, as though he were having a fit. Everyone stared at him curiously.

"… stands a-trembling, Daddy Joe," Susie Q. echoed.

"Mamie Pullen, if you don't stop those devils from jamming that sweet old spiritual, Steal Away, I swear before God I won't preach Big Joe's funeral," Reverend Short threatened in a rage-croaking voice.

"They're just trying to show their gratitude." Mamie shouted to make herself heard. "It was Big Joe who started them on their way to fame when they was just hustling tips in Eddy Price's joint, and now they're just trymg to send him on his way to heaven."

"That ain't no way to send a body to heaven," he said hoarsely, his voice giving out from shouting. "They're making enough noise to wake up the dead who're already there."

"Oh, all right, I'll stop' em," Mamie said, and went over and put her black wrinkled hand on Deep South's dripping wet shoulder. "That's been fine, boys, but you can rest a while now."

The music stopped so suddenly it caught Dulcy whispering angrily-"Why do you let that store-front preacher run your business, Aunt Mamie-" in a sudden pool of silence.

Reverent Short turned a look on her that glinted with malevolence.