"Dat's all right—I was jes' joking wid you—but, if you hain't any 'bjection, Massa Golcher, I'd like to know what yer gwine to do wid me? Am yer gwine ter take me up in York State and put me to work on a farm?"
"If you live a couple of hours longer, you'll be put through the sprouts."
"Put frough de sprouts," repeated Gimp, as if to himself; "wonder what dat means."
While this conversation was going on, the Indian who was keeping guard was seated on the other side the fire in a lounging attitude, and his head now and then bobbed down on his breast in a way that showed he was partly asleep.
Gravity Gimp did not appear to notice him, but he saw every movement, and, without appearing to do so, hitched a little closer to the Tory.
The latter seemed to conclude that nothing more was to be gained from the negro, and he ceased asking him questions.
The servant groaned and rubbed his leg with every appearance of great pain.
"Massa Golcher," said he, with a groan, "I'd be much obliged to yer, if you'll jes pull off my shoe and rub dat ankle for half an hour."
And as he made this astounding request he moved still nearer, and thrust his enormous shoe almost in the face of the renegade, who turned savagely upon him.
"I'll teach yer manners, you black—"