“Oh, murder! isn’t it hot,” he cried, drawing in his breath rapidly, then beginning to eat cautiously, with his features expanding. “Here, give us another, Tam o’ Shanter,” and he snatched the next.
“Oh, come, I say, play fair,” cried Norman, making sure of the next. “Ain’t they good?”
“’Licious,” said Rifle.—“Come on, cookie. More for me.”
“All agone,” cried the black, springing up, slapping his legs, and indulging in a kind of triumphal dance round the fire to express his delight at having converted the three white boys, ending by making a tremendous bound in the air, and coming down on all fours. “Eat um all up. You go ’long—come along. Shanter find a more.”
“No, not now, old chap,” said Norman. “Wait a bit.”
“Had ’nuff? Good, good!” cried the black, holding his head on one side and peering at all in turn. “Good—corbon budgery!” (Very good!)
“Yes, splendid. We’ll have a feast next time.”
The black nodded, and picked up the two little animals which he had tossed aside, and rehung them upon his spear.
He was evidently going to roast them, but Norman stopped him, and pointed out into the open.
“Come along with us.”