The two negroes stopped, staggered to where Gaitskill was standing, and sank down upon the curbstone at his feet.
“We done got away, Marse Tom!” Hitch Diamond panted. “Us escaped jes’ like de Bible say—wid de skin off our teeth.”
“Where have you been?” Gaitskill asked.
“Me an’ Vinegar is been huntin’ dat Diader you sent me atter dis mawnin’,” Hitch answered; then in a tone of sharp complaint: “Marse Tom, whut you makin’ all dis splutter ’bout dat varmint fur? She ain’t right in her intellectuals!”
“I don’t believe you’ve been anywhere near that swamp,” Gaitskill grinned.
“We shore has, Marse Tom,” the negroes said in one breath. Then they began a recitation of their experiences, snatching the sentences out of each other’s mouths:
“She built a fire by rubbin’ two sticks——”
“She et raw sassages——”
“She danced a jig in dat cabin wid butcher-knives——”
“She had on a chop-tailed nightshirt——”