"A lay over to do which?" he squinted.
"It has a present in it," Brent laughed. "Give me a match!"
He lit a cigarette, and the old fellow watched with a fond expression which gradually drew up into a tangle of wrinkles.
"Doesn' you want me to fetch you a li'l julep fer a mawnin'-mawnin'? It'll make yoh breakfas' set mighty good arter all dem peaches, an' I ain' fixed you none for—why, it must be moh'n a month!"
"No, you old sinner, I'm through with your mawnin'-mawnin's; and if you bring any around I'll take you to the grindstone!"
Uncle Zack stroked his jaw and grinned.
"Sho! Dat ain' gwine do me no hahm now, 'caze mah onlies' toof's done drapped out."
"Then I'll get Miss Liz after you!"
"Lawd, Marse Brent," the old fellow grew serious, "you knows she ain' turr'ble no moh! She's jest as meller as dem peaches, an' only las' week give me a dollar 'caze I hadn' cyarried de Cunnel but one julep dat day!"
"Is the Colonel getting up?"