“Morning, everybody!” she smiled. “That bed of yours, Uncle Abe, is the most comfortable one I ever slept on. Too bad I had to turn you out of it.”
“Reckon neither Marse Bill ner me knowed what we wuz a-sleepin’ on, Missy. I sho’ wuz daid ter ebbryt’ing all night long. De flo’ ain’t discomfertubble, when yo’ knows how ter lay on it.”
“I’m kind of stiff,” admitted Bill. “But I feel fifty million per cent better. Bet I never moved from the time I turned in until the smell of breakfast woke me up.”
“My!” exclaimed Dorothy, peeking into the frying pan. “Where did all these swell eggs come from, Uncle?”
The old darky chuckled.
“Dat’s one o’ de two things a white pusson mus’nt never ask no color’d pusson, Missy.”
“And what’s the other?” Dorothy inquired with twinkling eyes.
“Where a nigger gits his chickens.”
All three of them laughed this time and sat down to breakfast.
During the meal there was little conversation. Both Dorothy and Bill were frankly hungry and each was silently puzzling a way out of their predicament. Uncle Abe, always affable, nevertheless, rarely if ever volunteered advice unless called upon. In his mind, to do otherwise would have been a breach of good manners.