“You really think it’s all nonsense of some kind, my dear?” asked Mrs. Tremaine, who, though not giving way to fright, looked unusually grave.
“I’m so certain it’s all nonsense—or malice,” replied her husband, “that I’m going on with my supper if I can prevail upon Ham to bring me something more to eat.”
The colored man had risen from his knees, but had moved over close to the table, where he stood as though incapable of motion.
“You heard Mr. Tremaine, Hamilton?” asked Mrs. Tremaine, rousingly.
“Yassum. Yassum.”
“Then why don’t you bring food to replace what you dropped?”
“Yassum.”
“Then why don’t you start?”
“W’ut? Me gwine ter dat kitchen—all alone?” almost shrieked Ham.
“Go with him, won’t you, Jeff?” asked the host, turning to their young guide.