Jarrold gave him a big bill and told him to “keep his mouth shut with that.” The darky looked at the bill and his eyes rolled with astonishment.
“Dere’s suthin’ wrong hyer,” he muttered as he climbed into his rickety old rig and prepared to drive back to town. “Hones’ folks wouldn’ give ole Black Strap dat amoun’ uv money fo’ dat lilly bitty ride ’less dey was suthin’ fishy. Reckon Ah’ll do some ’vestigatin’ when Ah gits back to der town.”
In the meantime, Jarrold had taken the driver’s seat of the car and Cummings sat beside him. In a cloud of dust they started down the road, the old darky gazing after them till long after they had passed out of sight.
Then he whipped up his bony old nag to its best speed and hurried back to Kingston.
[CHAPTER XXV—SAM, A TRUE FRIEND]
Sam saw Jarrold get up and leave his table suddenly. The boy was on his feet in a minute and on his trail. Jarrold walked off quickly as if in a hurry. But Sam trailed him through the lobby. In front of the hotel stood an automobile, in the tonneau of which sat Jarrold’s pretty niece.
Sam got behind a pillar of the Spanish portico and strained his ears to hear what the two were saying, as Jarrold paused with his foot on the running board. A chauffeur, who had apparently driven his car from some garage, stood beside it waiting respectfully.
The listening boy could not hear much. But he saw the girl clasp her hands as if pleading with her uncle not to do some contemplated act, and he heard Jarrold grate out harshly:
“Shut up, I tell you. What do you know about it?”
Then Jarrold turned to the chauffeur.