"Reckon yo' gwine talk w'en yo' get gale enough in yo' lungs," grinned the negro. "In dat case Ah gwine lay yo' down on de groun' to fin' yo' breff."
Sambo's idea of laying Tom down was to give him a violent twist that brought the lad flat on the ground at his captor's feet. Then the negro sat on his captive to make sure that the latter did not escape.
"Take yo' time—-ah got plenty," grimaced the black man.
Slowly the beaten-out breath came back to Tom Reade. Sambo, watching, knew finally that his quarry was at last able to talk.
"Wha' yo' do to mah magernetto?" demanded Sambo.
"Guess," breathed Tom.
"Oh, take yo' time, boss. Ah got plenty ob dat accommerdation"
"What magneto are you talking about?" Reade queried innocently.
"Nebber heard ob it befo', eh, boss?"
"I've heard of plenty of magnetos, of course," admitted Tom. "But what have you to do with one?"