“No,” replied Mesty.
“Are you very fond of him? does he treat you well, give you plenty of money?”
At these questions, the artful black conceived that there was something in the wind, and he therefore very quietly replied, “I do not care much for him.”
The friar fixed his keen eye upon Mesty, and perceived there was a savage look about the black, from which he augured that he was a man who would suit his purpose.
“Your master offers me a thousand dollars; would you wish to gain this money for yourself?”
Mesty grinned and showed his sharp-filed teeth.
“It would make me a rich man in my own country.”
“It would,” replied the friar; “now you shall have it, if you will only give your master a small powder.”
“I understand,” replied Mesty; “hab those things in my country.”
“Well—do you consent?—if so, I will write the letter to get the money.”