“Nebber mind dat, Masser Mile. Masser Rupert nebber feel a saterfaction to be wracked away, or to be prisoner to Injin! Golly! No gentleum to be envy, sir, 'em doesn't enjoy dat!”
“You have a queer taste. Neb, from all which I conclude you expect to return to town with me, in the Wallingford, this evening, and to go out in the Dawn?”
“Sartain, Masser Mile! How you t'ink of goin' to sea and leave nigger at home?”
Here Neb raised such a laugh that he might have been heard a hundred rods, seeming to fancy the idea he had suggested was so preposterous as to merit nothing but ridicule.
“Well, Neb, I consent to your wishes; but this will be the last voyage in which you will have to consult me on the subject, as I shall make out your freedom papers, the moment I am of age.”
“What dem?” demanded the black, quick as lightning.
“Why, papers to make you your own master—a free man—you surely know what that means. Did you never hear of free niggers?”
“Sartin—awful poor debble, dey be, too. You catch Neb, one day, at being a free nigger, gib you leave to tell him of it, Masser Mile!”
Here was another burst of laughter, that sounded like a chorus in merriment.
“This is a little extraordinary, Neb! I thought, boy, all slaves pined for freedom?”