For a brief instant Sambo was almost inclined to believe that Reade did not fully know his secret. Finally it dawned on the brain of the big black man that he was being hoaxed.
"Ef yo' doan wanter tell, yo' doan hab to, ob co'se," proposed Sambo. "It ain't mah way to be too persistency wid de w'ite quality gemmen. But Ah done thought maybe yo' know somethin' dat yo's burnin' to tell."
"Who are you, and what are you doing around here?" asked Tom. "I'm certain you don't belong to my force of workmen—-unless you just joined yesterday. Are you working on the breakwater job?"
"Yessah," promptly answered Sambo with momentary gravity. Then his mood changed to a chuckle.
"Dat am all right, Massa Reade," he allowed. "But yo' doan' fool dis nigger as easy as yo' maybe think. Ah know what yo' watchin' me fo', and Ah done know I'se been doin' jess w'at yo' think. So I guess we doan' need no mo' conversationin', unless yo' willing to talk right out and tell me w'at's w'at."
"Sambo," said Reade solemnly, "I imagine I'm not very intelligent, after all. I listened to you attentively, but, for the life of me, I couldn't make out what you were talking about."
"Kain't yo'?" the negro demanded, mockingly. "Den Ah done reckon Ah must be a good deal of a scholar, ef Ah can talk so dat er w'ite quality gemmen kain't undahstan' me."
Mr. Sambo Ebony chuckled gleefully in appreciation of his own joke.
"There's one thing I guess you can tell me, Sambo," Reade suggested hopefully.
"W'at am dat, massa?"