“Yass, seh! yass, seh!” the darky answered, inquiringly.
It was evident the name conveyed no meaning to him.
“I’m the new owner, you know—since Colonel Duval died,” Croyden explained.
“Hi! yo is!” old Mose exclaimed, with another bow. “Well, praise de Lawd! I sees yo befo’ I dies. So yo’s de new marster, is yo? I’m pow’ful glad yo’s come, seh! pow’ful glad. What mout yo name be, seh?”
“Croyden!” replied Geoffrey. “Now, Moses, will you open the house and let me in?” 42
“Yo seen Marster Dick?” asked the darky.
“You mean the agent? No! Why do you ask?”
“Coz why, seh—I’m beggin’ yo pa’den, seh, but Marster Dick sez, sez he, ‘Don’ nuvver lets no buddy in de house, widout a writin’ from me.’ I ain’ doubtin’ yo, seh, ’deed I ain’, but I ruther hed de writin’.”
“You’re perfectly right,” Croyden answered. “Here, boy!—do you know Mr. Dick? Well, go down and tell him that Mr. Croyden is at Clarendon, and ask him to come out at once. Or, stay, I’ll give you a note to him.”
He took a card from his pocketbook, wrote a few lines on it, and gave it to the negro.