“Yes, I do lay out for to do that very thing, and if you say a word to anyone about it I’ll give you such a walloping that you won’t be able to stand up for a week.”
“An’ Brick can’t go anywhere widout dem buttins,” said the boy, sadly looking at his glistening coat on the bed. “Ef he ’pears in River Street dey’ll say, ‘Heah comes de Jedge’s boy.’”
“If you appear in River Street in that coat,” said Barry, firmly, “I’ll tell you what will happen. I’m going to see Git McGlory to-night. You know Git?”
“Know his fisties,” said Brick, meekly. “De’re like little potato barrels.”
“Well, I’m going to tell Git that I’m interested in a certain colored boy called Brick that he knows well. I’m going to say, ‘Git, if you see that boy on River Street just you shake your fists at him, and send him home. He’s got a good home, and I don’t mean he shall leave it.’”
Brick shuddered. “Mistah, aint I evah goin’ to git my cloes back?”
“Yes, if you behave yourself; but mind, I’m watching you. If you cut one button off your coats, or if you go in one place where you’d be ashamed to have the Judge see you, I’ll be on your track. Mind that now,” and with a determined shake of his head he opened the door to go out.
“By the way,” he said, sticking his head inside the room again, “have you seen anything more of that stranger who came here the other evening inquiring for the Brown’s coachman?”
“No,” said the boy, seriously, “I aint.”
“Would you know him if you saw him in broad daylight?”