Moses withdrew. In less than five minutes he returned.
“Well?” asked Enoch, as he opened his door.
“De—de—” (he was about to say gentleman, but checked himself) “de—de—man says—dat he’s obleeged to you fer your invitation, but he ain’t a-comin’. Dat’s his very words, Marser Crane.”
Enoch started.
“You’re sure that’s what he said?” he exclaimed, shooting forward in his chair angrily.
“Dem was his very words,” declared Moses. “Hol’ on—he done repeated, as I recollect, he ain’t a-comin’.”
“He said that to you, did he?” said Enoch slowly.
“Dat suttenly was his very syllables,” declared the old darky, scratching his woolly head.
“How did he say it?” snapped Enoch.
“Dere ain’t no use er makin’ any bones ’bout de way dat man talks to me,” Moses declared. “Talks like my ole overseer, ’cept he ain’t got no whip to cut me with. Fust day I laid eyes on him I sez to Matilda, he ain’t no gen’mun—seen it de way he was a hollerin’ an’ flambastin’ round de movers.”