"What's the matter, you born iddiwut?" roared Jerome, in a fury.
"Oh, I've seen a sperrit—I've seen a sperrit! I've seen the sperrit of my young mistress! And it's a token of my death!" wailed the negro boy in agony.
"What's that you say—a sperrit? A sperrit in this yer 'spectable, 'sponsible house? Lookee here, nigger: mind what you say now, or it'll be the wus for you! A sperrit in this yer ginteel family as never had a crime or a ghost inter it! The Cavendishers nebber 'mits no crimes when der living, nor likewise don't walk about ondecent after der dead. And der a'n't no sperrits here," said Jerome, with ire.
"Oh, I wish it wasn't—I wish it wasn't! But it was a sperrit! And it's a token of my death—it's a token of my death!" howled Taters.
And now at last the noise brought the three young ladies out of the drawing-room.
"What is the matter here, Jerome?" inquired Mrs. Cavendish. "Has any one got hurt? Who is that man?"
"Ef you please, Miss Emma, no one a'n't got hurt, though you might a thought, from the squalling, that there was a dozen pigs a killin'. And that man, miss, is a born iddiwut, so he is—begging your pardon, miss!—and says he's seed a sperrit in this yer harristocraterick house, where there never was a sperrit yet," explained Jerome, with a grieved and indignant look.
"But who is the man? What is he doing here? And what does he want?" inquired the young lady.
"The man is a born iddiwut, Miss Emma, as I telled you before; that's who the man he is! And he's a making of a 'fernal fool of hisself; that's what he's doing here! And he deserves a good hiding; and that's what he wants!" said Jerome, irately.
Miss Cavendish passed by the privileged old family servant, and went up to the man himself and inquired: