“I ’ope you well, seh,” insisted the Creole, and as the Doctor glanced toward him impatiently, repeated the sentiment, “’Ope you well, seh.”
The Doctor said he was, and turned once more to Richling. Narcisse bowed away backward and went to his desk, filled to the eyes with fierce satisfaction. He had made himself felt. Richling drew his chair nearer and spoke low:—
“If I don’t get work within a day or two I shall have to come to you for money.”
“That’s all right, Richling.” The Doctor spoke aloud; Richling answered low.
“Oh, no, Doctor, it’s all wrong! Indeed, I can’t do it any more unless you will let me earn the money.”
“My dear sir, I would most gladly do it; but I have nothing that you can do.”
“Yes, you have, Doctor.”
“What is it?”
“Why, it’s this: you have a slave boy driving your carriage.”
“Well?”