"Kill her!"
Andy broke into a loud laugh:
"Yassah! but she's er dangous 'oman, sah! She's a fighter from Fightersville—an' fuddermo', sah, I'se engaged to annudder lady at the same time—an' I'se in lub wid dat one an' skeered er de fust one."
"Face it, then. Confess your love and fight it out! Fight it out and let them fight it out. You like to see a fight, don't you?"
"Yassah! Oh, yassah," Andy declared bravely. "I likes ter see a fight—I likes ter see de fur fly—but I don't care 'bout furnishin' none er de fur!"
Norton had reached the door when he suddenly turned, the momentary humor of his play with the negro gone from his sombre face, the tragedy of a life speaking in every tone as he slowly said:
"Fight it out! It's the only thing to do—fight it out!"
Andy stared at the retreating figure dazed by the violence of passion with which his master had answered, wondering vaguely what could be the meaning of the threat behind his last words.