“Yes, I know.”
“I want to have a talk with you. You can depend on the money, Dale.”
A thought ran through the mind of the young aviator that by kindness he might make some impression on the two outcasts. As he summed up the meanness and audacity of his recent capture, however, Andy secretly confessed that it would be a hard undertaking.
First thing of all, our hero took a bath and got himself in better shape generally. Mr. Parks and a group of his friends occupied the main sitting room. Andy had left Dale in one of the smaller apartments of the old shack. As he went thither he passed Scipio, arrayed in white apron and natty cap and warbling a plantation ditty as he brandished knife and carver gaily.
“Getting sech a dinnah, Andy, chile,” he chuckled. “Ah give you a feast you nebber forgit.”
“Now then, Silas,” said Andy, entering the room where he had left the farmer boy, “I’ve got time to shake your hand good and hearty, and glad to do it.”
“And I’m glad you’re not too proud to do it,” replied Silas.
“You’ve done a big thing for me, Silas,” went on Andy.
“Think so?”
“Where would the race be if you had not come along in the nick of time and set me free?”