"Rusty, in my suitcase is an old suit of clothes which I put in to use, if I had to jump the town on account of Marcum. I thought I might go to the mountains when I went over to the Belmont Hotel. Now, get it out, and those old tennis shoes, and that cap."
"Whaffor, Marse Warren?" The big whites of his eyes were rolling—an indication that Rusty Snow's mind was not as much at ease as usual. "You ain't gonta do nothin' dangerous, is you, Marse Warren? Remember you-all is de oney one left in de fam'ly an' you's got to look after yohself."
Warren placed a kindly hand on the negro's shoulder.
"Rusty, I remember that once when Meadow Green got too small for you, years ago, you started out with a minstrel show—'The Darktown Merrymakers,' they called it."
This leap over the chasm of years was too much for Rusty.
"Yassir," he agreed, after recovering from his surprise. "But, I had to walk back home."
"The thing I want to know, Rusty, is whether you learned how to act when you were with that troupe. Did you?"
"Did I? Marse Warren, dere wasn't no amotion dat wasn't developed in me on dat trip—I started off laughin' and came back like a weepin' angel."
"Ha, ha!" laughed Jarvis. "That's splendid. Now, Rusty, I want to have you do some more play-acting—only turn it around. This time I want you to go away weeping, and we'll come back laughing!"
Rusty was actually offended.