“No, massa; I hain’t goin’ to let nobody know I’ze got nuthin’ till I git hole on de mule.”
Two days passed, and he saw nothing of the colored man. On the evening of the third day the colored man came in late, and took a seat in the corner on a box. But after all had left the room he came close up to Foster with his hand on his pocket.
“Well, did you get the mule?”
“Yes, massa; I got de most beautifullest mule dat you ever seed—de bes’ kind uv government mule.” Then he took from his pocket two clean, crisp five-dollar bills, and handed them to Mr. Foster. “’Fore Sat’day night I gwine to pay all, I ’spects; I’ze doin’ a busten bus’ness.”
The next Saturday evening the colored man was there; and as soon as the room was cleared he came forward, and, making sure that no one else would see, he took out quite a roll of bills, and from them selected a clean, crisp ten-dollar bill and handed it to Mr. Foster.
“How in the world did you make so much money?”
“I tole you, massa, der war a speculashun in it, an’ der war. Me and de mule and Ben arned ev’ry dollah. He’s the beautifullest mule you ever seed. Ben brung him round so as you could see ’em.”
Mr. Foster went to the door. There, sure enough, stood a good, strong mule, as docile, as quiet and sedate, as though he had not hauled the artillery into the fight, and stood near the big guns amid the thunders of battle; for Ben said, with great pride,—
“Dis mule is one uv dem best mules dat pulled de big guns ober de hills. Oh, he’s an awful strong hos!”
Little Ben sat on a board placed as a seat at the front of the wagon, his white, even teeth showing from ear to ear, and his eyes sparkling with gladness. Ben managed to buy a lot on a back alley and build himself a shanty and a little stable for the government mule.