“Yes—yes.”
“Well, then, you’d better finish the business. Tell him I don’t want to trade any away. We’ve got no more than will get in the crops.”
“Speak to him,” said the other, who seemed to grow more nervous and agitated.
“Oh, very well. Look here, mister; you’ve come to the wrong shop. I don’t understand what you mean by making believe to know me, but I don’t know you, and I’m not going to trade in blacks with any British ship. Understand?”
“Understand, sir?” cried the lieutenant, who was growing scarlet with heat and wrath. “It seems to me that you do not understand. Pray, who are you?”
“Business man and overseer of this plantation for my friend here, Mr James Allen, who trusts me to carry on his affairs for him, being a sick man just getting over a fever. There, I don’t want to be surly to an English officer, though I never found one civil to me. You’ve dropped anchor off here, and I suppose you want water. Well, if you do I’ll put a gang of my slaves on to help your men fill their casks.”
“I am exceedingly obliged to you, sir,” said the lieutenant sarcastically.
“Wal, that’s spoke better,” said the American. “And if you want some fresh meat and vegetables you can have a boat-load or two if you like to pay for ’em with a chest or so of tea. You’d like a few bottles o’ port wine, too, for your complaint, wouldn’t you, Allen?” he continued, turning to the pale, nervous man at his side.
“Yes—yes,” faltered the poor fellow.
“Really, you are too condescending,” cried the lieutenant. “Mr Roberts—Mr Murray—did you ever hear the like of this? Here, May—Titely—what do you say to this American gentleman?”