"Dat yaller Jezebel!—tryin' ter fling er spell over you—but I gwine ter save ye, honey!"
Andy retreated behind the lounge, his ample protector hot on his heels:
"Yassam!" he cried, "but I don't want ter be saved!"
Before he had finished the plea, she had pinned him in a corner and cut off retreat.
"Of course yer don't!" she answered generously. "No po' sinner ever does. But don't yer fret, honey, I'se gwine ter save ye in spite er yosef! Yer needn't ter kick, yer needn't ter scramble, now's de time ye needs me, an I'se gwine ter stan' by ye. Nuttin' kin shake me loose now!"
She took a step toward him and he vainly tried to dodge. It was useless. She hurled her ample form straight on him and lifted her arms for a generous embrace:
"Lordy, man, dat make me lub yer er hundred times mo!"
Andy made up his mind in a sudden burst of courage to fight for his life. If she once got those arms about him he was gone. He grasped them roughly and stayed the onset:
"Yassam!" he answered warningly. "But I got ter 'fess up ter you now de whole truf. I bin er deceivin' you 'bout myself. I'se er bad nigger, Miss Minerva, an' I hain't worthy ter be you' husban'!"
"G'long, chile, I done know dat all de time!" she laughed.