“I tole um so, Mass’ Tom, tole um so!” he exclaimed.
“Why, what is the matter?” I inquired, rather surprised.
“Golly, matter ’nuff for dis chile,” grumbled Jake.
“You savvy I tell you, Mass’ Tom, I’se come back from de hill ’fore Pomp get him cutlash to cut um guinea-grass, hey?”
“Yes, so you did, Jake,” I said sympathisingly, remembering his boast when setting out.
“I’se right den, massa!”
“Indeed?” I responded.
“Iss, Mass’ Tom. Belieb me, dat lazy ole niggah not cut guinea-grass, not do nuffin’!” said Jake indignantly, thinking and hoping that Pompey would receive a rating.
“Oh, he caught a ’guana before the rain came on, and that prevented him from going to cut the grass,” I explained.
Jake looked astounded.