“Why, I heard that this morning!” cried Rifle. “It was you that made the row?”
“Laughum Jackamarass,” said the black importantly. “Sung in um bush. You gib Shanter tickpence. You gib damper?”
“What does he mean?” said Uncle Jack. “Hang him, he gave us a damper.”
“Hey? Damper?” cried the black, and he smacked his lips and began to rub the lower part of his chest in a satisfied way.
“He wants a piece of bread,” said the captain.—“Here, aunt, cut him a lump and let’s get rid of him. There is no cause for alarm. I suppose he followed us to beg, but I don’t want any of his tribe.”
“Oh, my dear Edward, no,” cried Aunt Georgie. “I don’t want to see any more of the dreadful black creatures.—Here, chimney-sweep, come here.”
As she spoke, she opened the lid of a basket, and drew from its sheath a broad-bladed kitchen knife hung to a thin leather belt, which bore a clasped bag on the other side.
“Hi crikey!” shouted the black in alarm, his repertoire of English words being apparently stored with choice selections taught him by the settlers. “Big white Mary going killancookaneatum.”
“What does the creature mean?” said Aunt Georgie, who had not caught the black’s last compound word.
“No, no,” said Norman, laughing. “She’s going to cut you some damper, Shanter.”