"Does he know 'bout—"
Val shook his head.
"Tell him!" ordered the swamper. "Ah ain't a-goin' to stay undah his ruff lessen he knows. 'Tain't fitten."
At this clean-cut statement of the laws of hospitality, Val nodded. "All right. I'll tell him. But what were you after here, Jeems? I'll have to tell him that, too, you know. Was it the Civil War treasure?"
Jeems turned his head slowly. "No." Again the puzzled frown twisted his straight, finely marked brows. "What do Ah want wi' treasure? Ah don't know what Ah was lookin' fo'. Mah grandpappy—"
"Val, supper's ready," came Rupert's voice from the hall.
Val half turned to go. "I've got to go now. But I'll be back later," he promised.
"Yo'll tell him?" Jeems stabbed a finger at the door.
"Yes; after supper. I promise."
With a little sigh Jeems relaxed and burrowed down into the softness of the pillow. "Ah'll be awaitin'," he said.