“You see, I’m begging, and it’s honest begging, too! Now tell me, Roxy, tell me.”
The heir of two centuries of unatoned insult and outrage looked down on him and seemed to drink in deep draughts of satisfaction. Then she said—
“Fine nice young white gen’l’man kneelin’ down to a nigger-wench! I’s wanted to see dat jes once befo’ I’s called. Now, Gabr’el, blow de hawn, I’s ready … Git up!”
Tom did it. He said, humbly—
“Now, Roxy, don’t punish me any more. I deserved what I’ve got, but be good and let me off with that. Don’t go to uncle. Tell me—I’ll give you the five dollars.”
“Yes, I bet you will; en you won’t stop dah, nuther. But I ain’t gwine to tell you heah—”
“Is you ’feared o’ de ha’nted house?”
“N-no.”
“Well, den, you come to de ha’nted house ’bout ten or ’leven to-night, en climb up de ladder, ’ca’se de sta’r-steps is broke down, en you’ll find me. I’s a-roostin’ in de ha’nted house ’ca’se I can’t ’ford to roos’ nowhers’ else.” She started toward the door, but stopped and said, “Gimme de dollah bill!” He gave it to her. She examined it and said, “H’m—like enough de bank’s bu’sted.” She started again, but halted again. “Has you got any whisky?”