“Wall, another bright idee hahd struck the Kunnle. Says he, ‘Color this young ’un up a little, and she’d bring risin’ uv four hunderd dollars at a vahndoo. Any mahn, used ter buyin’ niggers, would see at wunst she’d grow up ter be a val’able fancy article. Ef I could afford it, I’d hold her on spekilation till she war fifteen.’ Wall, Mr. Vance, uv all the mean things I ever done, the meanest was to let the Kunnle, whan we got ter Noo Orleenz, take that poor little patient thing, as I had toted all the way down from Memphis, an’ sell her ter the highest bidder.”
With an irrepressible groan, Vance walked to the window. When he returned, he looked with pity on Quattles, and said, “Proceed!”
“Yer see, Mr. Vance, I owed the Kunnle two hunderd dollars, he’d won from me at euchre. He offered ter make it squar ef I’d give up my int’rest in the child. Wall, I’d got kind o’ fond uv the little thing; an’ ’t wasn’t till I got blind drunk on’t that I could bring my mind ter say yes. The thowt uv what I done that day has kept me drunk most ever sence. But the Kunnle, he tried to comfort me like. Says he, ‘The child was fairly ourn, seein’ as how we saved it from drownin’.’ ‘Don’t take on so, old feller,’ says he. ‘Think yerself lucky ef yer hahvn’t nothin’ wuss nor that agin yerself.’ But ’t was no go. He never could make me hold up my head agin like as I used ter; an’ we two cut adrift, an’ hain’t kept ’count uv each other sence.”
“How did he dispose of the child?”
“He stained her skin till she looked like a half mulatter, an’ then he jest got Ripper, the auctioneer, ter sell her.”
“Who bought the child?”
“Wall, Cash bowt her. That’s all I ever could find out. Ef Ripper knowed more, he wouldn’t tell.”
“To whom did you sell the yellow girl?”
“We didn’t sell her at all. Was glad to git her off our hahnds at no price. The chap what took her called hisself Dr. Davy. He was a free nigger, a trav’lin’ quack,—one of those fellers that ’tises to cure ev’ry thing.”
“When did you last hear of him?”