“‘De oder ting, sar, is, you no ab coat am arms, no ab seal to your watch, with bird and beast ’pon ’em; now ’pose you promise me dat you take oder name, and buy um coat am arms; den, sar, I take de matter into ’sideration.’
“‘Save yourself the trouble, ma’am,’ said I, jumping up; ‘my answer is short—I’ll see you and your whole generation hanged first!’
“Well, that was a very odd sort of a wind-up to a proposal; but here comes Moonshine.”
The black entered the room, and put a full bottle down on the table.
“Dare it is, sar,” said he, grinning.
“Well, done, Moonshine, now I forgive you; but how did you manage it?”
“Me tell you all de tory, sar—first I see Missy O’Bottom, and I say, ‘How you do, how you find himsel dis marning? Massa come, I tink, by an bye, but he almost fraid,’ I said. She say, ‘What he fraid for?’ He tink you angry—not like see him—no lub him any more: he very sorry, very sick at ’art—he very much in lub wid you.”
“The devil you did!” roared Cockle; “now I shall be bothered again with that old woman; I wish she was moored as a buoy to the Royal George.”
“Massa no hear all yet. I say, ‘Miss O’Bottom, ’pose you no tell?’ ‘I tell.’—‘Massa call for clean shirt dis morning, and I say, it no clean shirt day, sar;’ he say, ‘Bring me clean shirt;’ and den he put him on clean shirt and he put him on clean duck trowsers, he make me brush him best blue coat. I say, ‘What all dis for, massa?’ He put him hand up to him head, and he fetch him breath and say—‘I fraid Missy O’Bottom, no hear me now—I no hab courage;’ and den he sit all dress ready, and no go. Den he say, ‘Moonshine, gib me one glass grog, den I hab courage.’ I go fetch bottle, and all grog gone—not one lilly drop left; den massa fall down plump in him big chair, and say, ‘I neber can go.’ ‘But,’ say Missy O’Bottom, ‘why he no send for some?’ ‘’Cause,’ I say, ‘quarter-day no come—money all gone.’—Den say she, ‘If you poor massa so very bad, den I trust you one bottel—you gib my compliments and say, I very appy to see him, and stay at home,’—Den I say, ‘Missy O’Bottom pose massa not come soon as he take one two glass grog cut my head off.’ Dat all, sar.”
“That’s all, is it? A pretty scrape you have got me into, you scoundrel! What’s to be done now?”