“Yes, sah. What you do widout Pomp?”
“Come along,” I said, half surlily, half amused at the easy-going, light-hearted way in which the boy could forget the horrible peril in which he had placed himself.
“You berry sorry too, Mass’ George.—I know.”
“Know what?”
“How catch um ’gator?”
“How?”
“Pompey know. Show um a morrow. Good-bye, sah. Bring you ’noder dinner morrow morning.”
He made a mock salutation in the direction he believed the reptile to have taken, and then together we began to thread our way through the trees, back toward the clearing, and then after another cautious look round for snakes made for the garden. But before we were within a hundred yards, Pomp stopped.
“Ole massa in big garden, Mass’ George?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “He was going to be back to dinner.”