“Lawd save us!” groaned the colored man. “Where am dem candles at, I wonder? Hab he got de dorgs, sah?” shading a match with his hands so that its flickering light showed the apprehension in his white eyeballs.
“Some of them, yes. Don’t stand there shaking. Get his supper ready, then go down to the Triple Elms and wait for Watson. They mus’n’t meet until I’ve seen Watson. You tell him the Colonel is here and to lie low until he leaves.”
Sam had lit the candles and now stood tongueing his thick lips.
“It’s gwine to be a bad night, sah, an’ dey do say a-pack of wolves——”
Smythe lifted his hand.
“Hurry up—I hear him tramping out there. What did I tell you?”
The heavy voice of the Colonel was heard requesting that lights be brought and the fire be made more cheerful.
“You’d better take a rifle with you,” said the storekeeper, turning to the negro, his hand on the latch.
Sam waited until the door had closed behind his master. Then he gave way to silent mirth.
“Massar Smiff don’ want Watson t’ meet de Kennel. An’ de Kennel a-waitin’ out dar fer Massar Watson ter pop in any time. He! ho! he! ho!”