Tom recognized that neither lies nor arguments could help him any longer—he was in a vise, with the screw turned on, and out of it there was no budging. His face began to take on an ugly look, and presently he said, with a snarl—
“Well, what could I do? You see, yourself, that I was in his grip and couldn’t get out.”
Roxy scorched him with a scornful gaze awhile, then she said—
“What could you do? You could be Judas to yo’ own mother to save yo’ wuthless hide! Would anybody b’lieve it? No—a dog couldn’t! You is de low-downest orneriest hound dat was ever pup’d into dis worl’—en I’s ’sponsible for it!”—and she spat on him.
He made no effort to resent this. Roxy reflected a moment, then she said—
“Now I’ll tell you what you’s gwine to do. You’s gwine to give dat man de money dat you’s got laid up, en make him wait till you kin go to de Judge en git de res’ en buy me free agin.”
“Thunder! what are you thinking of? Go and ask him for three hundred dollars and odd? What would I tell him I want with it, pray?”
Roxy’s answer was delivered in a serene and level voice—
“You’ll tell him you’s sole me to pay yo’ gamblin’ debts en dat you lied to me en was a villain, en dat I ’quires you to git dat money en buy me back ag’in.”
“Why, you’ve gone stark mad! He would tear the will to shreds in a minute—don’t you know that?”