“Will you open the door for me?” inquired Hanson coolly.
“No, sah; couldn’t, not at no yate.”
“Then I will stay here until you do.”
“Den I’ll hab to let Tige loose, sah, an’ her wouldn’ min’ killin’ yo’ mo’ ’an ef yo’ was a yat.”
The brute growled like subterranean thunder.
“You insolent idiot! Do you dare to suppose I am afraid of your dog! Let her loose!” scornfully exclaimed Hanson.
The monster reared and plunged, and nearly pitched his keeper headforemost.
“Now, de Lor’ ’a’ messy on my po’ soul! Wot shall I do? My orders was to let her loose on to yo’, sah, ef so be yo’ didn’ go peaceable w’en yo’ was tol’ so to do,” said Pompous, in an agony of doubt.
“Well, you zany, why don’t you obey your orders?” demanded Hanson with a scornful laugh at the negro’s distress.
There are limits to human endurance of insult.