“Injun Bill.”
“Who else?”
“A white boy.”
“Well, the great snakes! What sort of game is you up to? Who is the white boy?”
“He stay on the Turner plantation at de printin’-office,” explained Mink.
“You hear that, don’t you?” said the man to his companion. “And now it’ll all be in the paper.”
“Bosh!” exclaimed Joe. “I don’t know you from a side of sole-leather. I got lost while rabbit-hunting, and came in here out of the rain.”
“He’s a peart-talkin’ chap,” said the man who wanted to eat a trayful of hot biscuits and eleven pounds of butter.
“He came fum town,” said Mink, by way of explaining Joe’s “peartness.”
“How long since?” asked one of the men.