“Boss, is she gentle?” Hitch asked as if he were alluding to a newly purchased horse.
“Certainly,” Gaitskill assured him. “What’s the matter with you? Diada is just a nigger woman like Hopey.”
“Mebbe so suh,” Hitch mumbled. “But she shore don’t look like Hopey in looks.”
“Take her around to the kitchen and give her something to eat,” Gaitskill commanded.
“Yes, suh,” Hitch answered obediently, but his tone expressed the exact denial of his words, and he stood right where he was. “Yes, suh; I’ll fetch her aroun’ to de kitchen—er, uh—atter while—soon’s I kin git aroun’ to it. Ole miss tole me to go down to de sto’house right now——”
“She told you nothing of the sort!” Gaitskill snapped. “Take Diada to the kitchen. Tell Hopey I said feed her. Hear me?”
Hitch’s whole body moved in the general direction of Diada, with the exception of his feet. He swayed toward her like a pendulum, and then swung back. He took a big breath, looked at Gaitskill, and muttered:
“Lawdamussy, Marse Tom, dat woman is wild; dat’s a plum’ hawg-wild nigger, fer shore! An’, boss, I tells you honest—ef any cullud pusson in de worl’ is wilder dan whut I is, I don’t wanter had nothin’ to do wid ’em.”
“Thunderation!” Gaitskill roared. “Come down here in the yard with me!”
“Yes, suh; I’s right on yo’ hip. I’ll foller as fur as you leads de way.”