“Dat’s a right fine dawg. Miss Shirley she moughty fond ob dawgs, too.”
“Fond of dogs, is she?” said Valiant. “I might have known it. It was nice of her to send you here, Uncle Jefferson. You can take me and my traps, I suppose?”
“’Pens on whah yo’ gwineter,” answered Uncle Jefferson sapiently.
“I’m going to Damory Court.”
A kind of shocked surprise that was almost stupefaction spread over the other’s face, like oil over a pool. “Dam’ry Co’ot! Dat’s de old Valiant place. Ain’ nobody lives dar. Ah reck’n ain’ nobody live dar fer mos’ er hun’erd yeahs!”
“The old house has a great surprise coming to it,” said Valiant gravely. “Henceforth some one is going to occupy it. How far is it away?”
“Measurin’ by de coonskin en th’owin’ in de tail, et’s erbout two mile. Ain’ gwineter live dar yo’se’f, suh, is yo’?”
“I am for the present,” was the crisp answer.
Uncle Jefferson stared at him a moment with his mouth open. Then ejaculating under his breath, “Fo’ de Lawd! Whut folks gwineter say ter dat!” he shambled to the rear of the motor and began to unship the steamer-trunk.
“By the way,”—John Valiant paused, with the portmanteau in his hands,—“what do you ask for the job?”