The old negro bowed very profoundly, but said nothing. Such munificence deprived him of the power of speech for the moment.
“Now, good-by. And here! Harken to a little parting advice. Don’t you let your wife tyrannize over you.”
’Rusalem drew himself up with all the dignity of a “lord of creation.”
“Who, sah?” he demanded. “Wilet? No, sah! Wilet know her dooty too well, sah. I is de sup’eem yuler in my fambly, sah. Wilet no mo’ fink ob yunnin’ ’way offen de islan’ ’dout my leabe, dan she would jump inter de sea. No, sah! She knows wot she’d cotch ef she did! No, sah. I’s lord an’ marster ob dat ’oman! Yes, sah, I is fo’ sho—I mean fo’ true.”
Hanson laughed to think how utterly dependent was this sable and self-deceived “supreme ruler” on his wife, for counsel, assistance, and everything else he needed.
“T’ank yo’ berry much, sah, fo’ yo’ moneyifficence, an’ likewise yo’ good ’vice. Gib my dooty to de young madam, sah.”
“I will,” said Hanson as he stepped into the boat.
The men laid themselves to their oars, and, rowing swiftly, soon cleared the distance between the island and the yacht.
The captain was standing on the deck to welcome the owner.
“Glad to see you, sir!” he exclaimed.