“No, sah. I don’ want ’em. Dey ain’ gwine keep me wahm.”
“And this apartment is yours. I don’t know how long we’ll be here. But make yourself at home.” He took out of his pocket four silver quarters. “I’ve paid for your room. Down near the dock you’ll find places to eat—fried fish and pork and bread and coffee.”
“How much dat gwine cos’ me?” exclaimed Amos, a grin on his usually somber face.
Morey took up a quarter.
“Never,” he said with a frown, “never, so long as I am paying your bills, spend more than two bits for a meal.”
“No, sah,” responded the black boy. “Ah knows dat—two bits.”
“And now,” said Morey, “you can eat and sleep until I come back. And don’t get lost. Be here by six o’clock or I’ll send the police after you.”
Morey still had time for his toilet. Unpacking his bag he got out fresh linen and while Amos brushed his clothes and shoes he took as much of a bath as he could get. This done, he locked their rooms, took Amos to a drug store, treated the happy black boy to an ice cream soda, started him back toward the “Basin House,” their hotel, and then boarded a car for Fort Meyer.
There was a vigorous protest when he explained that he had removed Amos and their baggage to a hotel.
“But how about the horse?” asked Lieutenant Purcell.