“Tol’able, jess tol’able, Marse Lee,” replied Jim. “Ah sho’ am glad to see you-all.”
“These are my friends, Bobby Blake and Fred Martin,” said Lee, as he piled the bags in the back of the buckboard. “They’ve come down to stay awhile with me on the plantation.”
The old man took off his tattered hat and made a sweeping bow.
“I’se proud to meet de young gem’lum,” he said. “Missus tole me dey waz a comin’. We sho’ will try ter give dem er mighty good time.”
CHAPTER XIII
FLYING HEELS
The six dusty miles from the station to the plantation would have been tedious ordinarily, but the boys were too full of high spirits to let little things like dust and heat affect them. The buckboard creaked and jounced along, and the mules seemed to have even more than their share of the general disinclination to hurry. The old negro gave the boys news of all that had been going on at the plantation since Lee’s last time home.
“Ah’m afraid dat Marse Jim Boolus am fixin’ to make you an’ you ma all de trouble dat he kin,” said the old darkey, shaking his head. “Seems like he’s gettin’ meaner and more no-account every year dat passes over his haid.”
“The old rascal!” exclaimed Lee, with flashing eyes. “I’ll make him sorry some day for all the trouble he’s caused my family.”
“Dere’s lots of odder folks feels de same way,” said Jim. “Ev’body in de parish hates him like pisen, but de more people hates him de mo’ he seems to like it.”
On the boat Lee had said quite a little of this Jim Boolus to Bobby and Fred. He was a mean old skinflint, who had thriven on the misery of others, and by many a shady deal had brought ruin on honest people. While everybody knew him to be unscrupulous and dishonest, he was so cunning and crafty that he always managed to keep out of the grip of the law. At present he was trying to prove his ownership to a large part of Mrs. Cartier’s estate, and she was in serious danger of losing it.