Dolf laid a hand on her arm.
"Only 'splain, Clorindy, 'splain!"
"Ise gwine to git at dem rascals. I want my money—I'll have it! Marster shall git it. Oh de villin scampsesses! I want my money."
Dolf dropped speechless in a chair, while the rest poured out floods of questions, which Clorinda was in no state to answer.
"Was yer money in dat bank?"
"Ise gwine to York; get my bunnit!"
They fairly shook her, the general curiosity was so great.
"Why don't yer speak?" said Vic. "Was yer money in de bank?"
"Yis; ebery red cent. Oh! oh! Five hundred dollars—and it's a—all g—gone!" she sobbed. "I'll hev it! I'll hev it! Call marster! Git my bunnit. Oh! oh!"
They made her sit down, they explained to her that nothing could be done until the next day, and finally she subsided into silent tears. All this while Dolf sat without offering one word of consolation; now he said: