“Marse Joe,” said he, “when you rid out ter de river Sunday, is you happen ter see er bateau floatin’ ’roun’?”
Joe looked at Harbert for some explanation of the singular question, but the negro pretended to be very busily engaged in picking up scraps of paper.
“Yes,” said Joe, after a pause, “I saw a boat drifting down the river. What about it?”
“Well, suh, I speck ef de trufe waz ter git out, dat dey wuz one er yo’ ole ’quaintance in dat boat, an’ I bet a thrip dat ef you’d a-hollered howdy, dey’d a-hollered howdy back.”
Harbert was still too busy to look up.
“Hit de funniest boat what I yever come ’cross,” he went on, “agwine floatin’ long down by itse’f, an’ den, on top er dat, come floatin’ long back agin.”
“How do you know about the bateau?”
“Whiles you bin gwine’long de road, Marse Joe,” said Harbert, still making a great pretense of gathering up the trash in the room, “ain’t you never is see all dem little birds flyin’ ’mongst de bushes an’ ’long de fence? Well, suh, dem little birds kin tell mo’ tales ef you listen at ’em right close dan all deze yer papers what you bin printin’. Dey er mighty cu’us, an’ dey er mighty cunnin’. Dey tole me lots mo’ dan dat. Dey say dat de young Gaither boy took an’ sont word ter Marse Tom Clemmons dat somebody done gone an’ stole de bateau at de ferry, but yit when Marse Tom go out fer ter look atter his boat dar she is right spang whar he lef’ ’er. Now, how you ’count fer dat?”
“Then, Mink—”
“Coon an’ ’possum!” interrupted Harbert, as Mr. Snelson appeared in the doorway.