“Be quiet,” I said, for the black was indulging in a kind of war-dance; “you don’t understand. I’m going across the sea to find my father.”
“Dat him. Jimmy want go ’cross sea find him fader bad. Hi! want go there long time.”
“Why, you never heard of the place before,” I said.
“No, never heard him fore; want to go long time. Jimmy go too.”
“Why, what for?” I said.
“Hunt wallaby—kedge fis—kill black fellow—take care Mass Joe—find um fader. Hi—wup—wup—wup!”
“He would be very useful to us, Joe,” said the doctor.
“And I should like to take him,” I said eagerly.
“Iss, Jimmy go,” cried the black, who contrived, in spite of his bad management of our language, to understand nearly everything that was said, and who was keenly watching us all in turn.
“He would be just the fellow to take,” said the doctor.