"Do tell me what yer mean, Clorindy," pleaded Dolf, his eyes fairly started out of his head with curiosity.
"Oh, mebby you'd better go to Vic," she retorted, "she's a heap cuter dan what I be. I ain't coffee-colored, I'se only a nigger."
"Now, Miss Clorindy!" cried Dolf, understanding that this was an occasion when flattery and soft words were absolutely necessary. "You know I'se ales in for de genuine article."
"Don't know nothin' ob de sort," said Clo. "I kint flirty and flighty about like some folks; but, anyhow, I ain't fool enough to put all my wages on my back. I guess marster cud tell what I've got in de bank."
That allusion to her golden charms drove the youthful graces of Victoria quite out of Dolf's head. He grew more tender and submissive at once.
"Yer's de pearl ob de creation!" he cried enthusiastically.
Mellen stamped his foot passionately, furious with their nonsense, upbraiding himself that he could listen to the conversation of his own servants, yet unable to move away without hearing the revelation which Clorinda evidently had to make.
After a little more persuasive eloquence which began to restore Clorinda's good-humor, Dolf said:
"But do tell me what yer means 'bout de tree?"
"No," said Clorinda, mysteriously; "it's one ob dem tings as is best not talked 'bout. I don't run and tell all I sees and hears."