“And has just got home?” quickly added Hanson.
Pompous cocked up his head sideways, like some huge bird, and answered, dubiously, in a noncommittal manner:
“Ef yo’ say so, sah, it aine no manners to conterdick yo’.”
“Then, since the lady is at home, go around and let me in, and take my card to her,” said Hanson, producing a little slip of pasteboard from his breast pocket.
“I darsen’t do it, sah. I darsen’t, ’deed. W’ich my o’ders is strict, sah.”
“Your orders?”
“Yas, sah. To ’quest yo’ to ’part peaceable, sah. Yas, sah.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Hanson, flushing red to his forehead. “Are these your mistress’ orders?”
“W’ich dey is, sah.”
“Did she send me any message?”