“That's right, Zuba,” counseled Mr. Ginn. “Fight 'em out in there. You can be just as free in there as you want to. Have some of my terbacker, Cap'n?”
Captain Dan declined. The prisoner continued to thump and kick and threaten. Her jailer refilled and lighted his pipe.
“Thought over that bill of fare, Zuby?” he shouted, after a time.
More thumps and threats; tears as well. Daniel began to feel pity instead of triumph.
“Hadn't you better, Labe,” he began. Mr. Ginn waved him to silence.
“How about supper, Zuby?” he called. “Oh, all right, all right. I don't know as I'm as hungry as I was, anyway. Appetite's kind of passin' off, I cal'late. You stay in there and think till mornin', and we'll have it for breakfast.”
Silence—actual silence—for a moment. Then Azuba asked, in a half-smothered but much humbler voice, “Oh, Labe! WON'T you let me out?”
“Sure thing—if you've thought up that supper for me and Cap'n Dan'l.”
“But I did so want—oh, if I could only tell you! It was SO necessary for me to go to that meetin'. You've spiled everything, and just as 'twas goin' so nice. What Gertie'll say I don't know.”
Daniel developed a new interest.