“You shall hear from me very shortly,” said Randolph, as he strode to the door.
“I shall await your pleasure with impatience, sir, and give you such a reply as even you cannot disdain.”
Peter, the personal attendant of Harrison Randolph, stood at the door as his master passed out, and went on before him to hold his stirrup. The young master and his friend and cousin, Dale, started off briskly and in silence, while Pete, with wide eyes and disturbed face, followed on behind. Just as they were turning into the avenue of elms that led to their own house, Randolph wheeled his horse and came riding back to his servant.
“Pete,” said he sternly, “what do you know?”
“Nuffin’, Mas’ Ha’ison, nuffin’ ’t all. I do’ know nuffin’.”
“I don’t believe you.” The young master’s eyes were shining through the dusk. “You’re always slipping around spying on me.”
“Now, dah you goes, Mas’ Randolph. I ain’t done a thing, and you got to ’mence pickin’ on me—”
“I just want you to remember that my business is mine.”
“Well, I knows dat.”
“And if you do know anything, it will be well for you to begin forgetting it right now. Take Bess around and see her attended to. Leave Dale’s horse here, and—I won’t want you any more to-night.”