As Jerry finished, he looked up and began to blubber. With him, it was any port in a storm. Never in his life had he acknowledged to telling a lie. With a gulp and clearing his throat, he said:
“Dar’s a hoodoo on dat papah, but dem’s de words prezackly ’at Ah done took down. Yas, sah, Mistah Bob, dat’s what he said.”
“I guess he must be tellin’ the truth boys,” announced Bob at once. “There’s something strange here, but I reckon Jerry’s all right. Jerry, I apologize for thinkin’ you were telling a lie.”
“Oh, dat’s all right, Mistah Bob. We all gwine make mistakes. Ah cain’t hardly blame yo’ all. But Ah reckon yo’ done belieb me now.”
“We certainly do,” said Hal. “But I wish I had your luck.”
“Mah luck?” repeated Jerry, puzzled.
“Yes,” added Mac. “A chance at the treasure you are going to find at midnight.”
“Treasuah? Me? Midnight?” cried the colored boy, in sudden alarm.
“Certainly,” exclaimed Bob, in apparent surprise. “You don’t mean you aren’t goin’ to dig it up?”