“What’s the matter with you, you blundering, black scoundrel?” demanded Fillmore. “Never saw you act so oddly.”
“Somefin’ sholy moved just as I was a-gwine teh step frough the do’,” declared Tom, as he gathered himself up unsteadily. “Whoa, dar! It moved ag’in! Is de groun’ shakin’ ur nuffin’?”
“He’s drunk!” declared Dick Whisper. “Hastings will give it to you, Tom.”
“Dat’s right, he will. He’ll be hoppin’ mad about de smash. But de flo’ gave de funniest wiggle. Yah! yah! yah! It done tickle mah foot.”
Then the negro went off into a spasm of laughter.
“You’ll lose your place if you don’t brace up, Tom,” said Fillmore. “Here comes Mr. Hastings now.”
“Oh, Lordy!” gasped the colored man, his manner changing with astonishing suddenness. “I’s do’ fo’!”
He made a scramble to gather up the waiter and some of the partly smashed glasses.
Suddenly he stopped.