“Now, yo’ take dis cha’, yite ’fo’ de fire, young ge’man. Sorry we ain’t got no fire in de pa’lor fo’ yo’,” she said, drawing up the one comfortable seat of the room, a flag-bottomed rocker with a patchwork cushion.
“Thank you. This will do very well,” said Harcourt, taking his seat, and then adding: “Now, sit down, both of you, for I wish to have a talk with you; and take your pipes. I don’t object to smoke.”
“Wouldn’t yo’ condorcent to take a pipe yo’se’f, sah? Ise got a new clay one, an’ some prime bakker,” said ’Rusalem politely.
“Thank you, no. I never smoke, though I do not dislike it.”
“Well, den, young marse, it’s a cole night, an’ so I’ll jes’ hang my kettle ober de fire, and pit some apples down to yoast on de haff, an’ ’Rusalem will get out his jug o’ w’isky—it’s prime, an’ none o’ p’ison, like Tom Todd used to sarve out to his cursemores—Tom Todd! We knows dis is prime, caze we gits it yight f’om de ’stillery, an’ it ’quainted wid de ’stillerers. An’ I’ll make yo’ de lubblies’ bowl o’ apple toddy, wid sugar an’ spices, an’ ebberyfin’ ’cordin’, like I use’ to brew fo’ ole Marse Henry Guyon an’ de gemmen, o’ winter nights; an’ ebbery single gemman drink my apple toddy, an’ praise it to de skies. Yes, sah. An’ now I gwine to make some fo’ yo’.”
“No! no! I thank you very much, but I never drink anything of the sort. I wish to speak to you about the young couple who came here to spend their honeymoon,” said Harcourt.
“Honeymoon!” echoed Wilet. “Honeymoon! Whew! Whip yo’ hosses!—pepper-winegarmoon! witriolmoon!—fire-an’-brimstonemoon!” exclaimed Wilet.
“I heard in Snowden that they had parted,” said Harcourt.
“Look here, young ge’man,” said Wilet, “I ’members yo’ come down in de boat ’long ob dem, but didn’t come in, nor likewise eben speak to nobody. Yo’ went yight back to de boat. But ef yo’ had come in an’ stayed yere—oh! I tells yo’ yo’d ’a’ seem a circus!”
“Tell me all about it.”