"'Deed I can't! 'Deed I can't, Marse Ishmael! If I let go of you I shall wake up an' find you is all a dream, an' I'll be as bad off as ebber," persisted Katie, taking Ishmael more firmly into custody than ever.
He laughed; he could not help laughing at the ludicrous desperation of his captor. But his astonishment and wonder were unabated; and he saw that Katie could not give a lucid explanation of her presence on the island, or at least not until her excitement should have time to subside.
Besides the crowd of negroes, mulattoes, and creoles, men, women, and children, who had gathered around them, with open eyes and mouths, was still increasing.
"Katie," he said, "we cannot talk in the middle of the street with all these people staring at us. So come with—"
"Oh, lor', Marse Ishmael," interrupted Katie, "don't you mind dese poor trash! Dey can't speak one word o' good Christian talk, nor likewise understand a Christian no mor'n dumb brutes. Dey is no better nor barbariums, wid dere o's and ro's ebery odder word. Don't mind dem herrin's."
"But, Katie, they have eyes. Come with me to the hotel. You will find your old master there."
"Who? My ole—" began Katie, opening her mouth, which remained open as if incapable of closing again, much less of uttering another syllable.
"Yes, Judge Merlin is here."
"My ole—Well, Lor'!"
"Come, Katie."