“Black fellow,” said the shiny, unclothed native sharply, “spear um bullockum.”
“Why, he can speak English,” said Rifle, sharply.
“Oh yes, he has hung about here for a long time now, and picked it up wonderfully.—You can talk English, can’t you, Ashantee?”
The black showed his teeth to the gums.
“What’s his name?” asked Artemus, otherwise Tim.
“Oh, that’s only the name I gave him, because he is so black—Ashantee.”
“Eh, you want Shanter?” cried the black sharply.
“No; but mind and drive those bullocks and horses down to Jennings’, and the gentleman will give you sixpence.”
“You give Shanter tickpence?” he cried eagerly, as he lowered his rough shock-head and peered in the captain’s face.
“Yes, if you drive them carefully.”