“He did, did he?” broke in Tom. “I only wish he knew enough to fry ham. Jerry is ouah dish washah, crab fishah, frog catchah, watah carriah, camp sweepah, boat bailah—are you anything else, Jerry?” concluded Tom, with a laugh.
“I shuah am. I done bile de coffee. An’ Marse Hal hissef he done call me de ’sistant chef. I ain’t call mahsef no chef. Yo’ all is who calls me de chef. I ain’t tell no lie.”
“You told me you had an important engagement to hire assistant chefs,” persisted Bob.
“No, sah, no, sah, Marse Bafah—dars whar you’ musunderheerd me. Ah says Ah’s de ’sistant—das what I recomembah fo’ shuah advisin’ yo’. An’ Ah is dat, ain’t I, Marse Tom?” pleaded Jerry. “Ain’t I de first ’sistant chef?”
“Oh, I reckon so,” conceded Tom, with a laugh, “if that’ll save yo’ from lyin’. But you must quit talkin’ so much Jerry.”
“Where’s he been the last two or three days?” asked Bob, turning to the boys. “I forgot he belonged to us.”
Both boys looked a little sheepish, and then Hal explained.
“Jerry is usually with us and we half way consented that he might go along this spring. But when Mac dropped out, he told Jerry if he went along, he’d get into trouble—”
“Mac told Jerry he’d beat him up if he went,” interrupted Tom.