“Where’s the freight agent?” asked Jerry.
“Oh, he’s over to Buck Johnson’s.”
“Where’s Johnson’s?”
“Down the road, about two hoots an’ a holler.”
“How far is that?” asked Ned, to whom this description of distance was new.
“I doan’t rightly know, but ef yo’ go twice as fur as yo’ kin hoot, an’ then as fur as yo’ kin holler, yo’ll find him, but I don’t guess he’ll come.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause he’s at a dorg fight, an’ he hates t’ come away from a dorg fight.”
“Can you tell him we’d like to see him about our boat?” inquired Jerry, holding up a shining quarter.
“Mister, I’d go fo’ miles fer two bits,” replied the little darky, calling the twenty-five cent piece by its southern name. He seized the money as though he feared it would vanish, and started off on a run.