“Master Fred, lad, I’d die for you!” half sobbed Samson, with his face working; and he clung now to the hand extended to him. “But do, do speak, sir. Poor Nat aren’t dead?”
“No, no! How could I have been such an idiot!”
“Such a what, sir? Here, who says so?” cried Samson, truculently.
“I can’t think how it was I never thought of it before.”
“Here, sir, ’pon my head, I don’t know which hole you’re coming out of. What do you mean?”
“They’re alive, Samson; they’re alive!”
“He’s alive, sir—he’s alive, you mean.”
“No; I mean they must be alive.”
“But there never was but one Nat, sir; and that was quite enough.”
“You don’t understand me, man.”