“My, my, dayt am a nice gen’mums, fo’ sho’,” muttered the old darky. “Ah don’ jes’ lak de looks ob dese circumloquoshons nohow, an’ Ah am goin’ ter keep mah eyes wide open. Yes, sah, jes’ dat berry ting.”
By the side of the halted car stood Jarrold. He wore a broad Panama hat and a long white dust coat.
“Well, you got him, I see,” said Jarrold, with an evil grin that showed all his tusk-like teeth, as the darky’s rickety old vehicle came to a halt.
“Yes, it was like taking candy from a child,” responded Cummings. “Now if you’ll just give me a lift in with him, governor, we’ll get started.”
Between them, the two rascals half pushed, half carried Jack’s limp form into the back of the auto. Jarrold dug down into his pockets.
“This is the right road for the Lion’s Mouth, isn’t it?” he demanded of the darky. “It’s years since I was there and I’ve forgotten much about it.”
The black looked at him with dropping jaw.
“De Lion’s Mouf out by der ole castle, Busha?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” was the impatient response. “This is the right road?”
“Oh, yas, sah, yas, sah,” sputtered the driver.