"Yes, suh, Mars' Gravitt; dat's me, sholy."
"All right. You see this bundle. If anybody tackles me while we're making fast, I'm going to drop it, and you must get it and run away. Do you understand?"
The negro eyed the bundle suspiciously.
"Ain't no dinnymite, 'r nothin' er that sawt in hit, is dey, Cap'm?"
"No."
"Whut-all mus' I do when I's done tuk out wid hit?"
"Get away, first; then keep out of sight and hang around the levee for an hour or two. If I don't turn up before you get tired, pitch the thing into the river and go about your business. How much money does the captain owe you?"
"Cap'm Mayfiel'? Shuh! he don't owe me nothin'. I done draw de las' picayune dat was comin' to me yistiday—an' dat yaller nigger over yonder got it in de crap-game, same as turrers."
Griswold put a twenty-dollar bill into the black palm, and when the crap victim made out the figure of it by the glow of the furnace fires, his eyes bulged. "Gorra-mighty!" he gasped; and would have given it back.
"No, keep it; it's yours. Do exactly as I have told you, and if I'm able to keep my date with you, I'll double it. But if I don't show up, remember—the bundle goes into the river just as it is. If you open it, it'll conjure you worse than any Obi-man you ever heard of."