“Yes, I does.”
“Then you don’t believe I’m idiot enough to go to him, do you?”
“I don’t b’lieve nothin’ ’bout it—I knows you’s a-goin’. I knows it ’ca’se you knows dat if you don’t raise dat money I’ll go to him myself, en den he’ll sell you down de river, en you kin see how you like it!”
Tom rose, trembling and excited, and there was an evil light in his eye. He strode to the door and said he must get out of this suffocating place for a moment and clear his brain in the fresh air so that he could determine what to do. The door wouldn’t open. Roxy smiled grimly, and said—
“I’s got de key, honey—set down. You needn’t cle’r up yo’ brain none to fine out what you gwine to do—I knows what you’s gwine to do.” Tom sat down and began to pass his hands through his hair with a helpless and desperate air. Roxy said, “Is dat man in dis house?”
Tom glanced up with a surprised expression, and asked—
“What gave you such an idea?”
“You done it. Gwine out to cle’r yo’ brain! In de fust place you ain’t got none to cle’r, en in de second place yo’ ornery eye tole on you. You’s de low-downest hound dat ever—but I done tole you dat befo’. Now den, dis is Friday. You kin fix it up wid dat man, en tell him you’s gwine away to git de res’ o’ de money, en dat you’ll be back wid it nex’ Tuesday, or maybe Wednesday. You understan’?”
Tom answered sullenly—
“Yes.”