"What are you doing there?" said Deal, as he passed by, on his way to put up the tools.
No answer. But Carl had all kinds of whims, and Deal was used to them. He went across to Scip's chimney.
"Awful time, cap'en," said the old negro, in a low voice. "Soon's you's gone, dat man make young marse drink, and bot' begin to holler and fight."
"Drink? They had no liquor."
"Yes, dey hab. Mus' hab brought 'em 'long."
"Where is the man?"
"Oh, he gone long ago—gone at noon."
Deal went to his brother. "Carl," he said, "get up. Dinner is ready." But the coiled form did not stir.
"Don't be a fool," continued Deal. "I know you've been drinking; Scip told me. It's a pity. But no reason why you should not eat."
Carl did not move. Deal went off to his dinner, and sent some to Carl. But the food remained untasted. Then Deal passed into the house to get some tobacco for his pipe. Then a loud cry was heard. The hiding-place which his Yankee fingers had skillfully fashioned in the old wall had been rifled; all his money was gone. No one knew the secret of the spot but Carl.