“What are all them niggers running for?” asked a man a few days ago. “Are they blasting up there?”
“No, there ain’t no blastin up there. The niggers like to take a run down to the dock to hear the jaw, and, say, they’re eatin’ each other up to-day.”
“Say, boss, the Colonel’s car is comin’,” says a trusted African to his Scottish chief.
“Wull, let it come, an’ dinna ye bother me.”
But an observing person can see that the lava ceases to flow as the noise of the wheels reach the ears of the warring ones.
“Get busy, there, ye fellows, an’ move them piles. Don’t ye see that the Colonel’ll be along here in a minute? There he is now.”