“About the note you gave him. My father, I mean.”
“You fadda! I gub you fadda no note. You wand’in in your ’peach, Missy Blanche!”
“No—no. I mean what you gave him—the piece of paper I entrusted you with.”
“Oh, gub Massa Maynar! Ob coas I gub it him.”
“And you think no one saw you?”
“Don’t ’tink anyting ’bout it. Satin shoo nobody see dat Sabby, she drop de leetle billydou right into de genlum’s pocket—de outside coat pocket—wha it went down slick out ob sight. Make you mind easy ’bout dat, Missy Blanche. ’Twan’t possible nob’dy ked a seed de tramfer. Dey must ha hab de eyes ob an Argoos to dedect dat.”
The over-confidence with which Sabby spoke indicated a doubt.
She had one; for she had noticed eyes upon her, though not those of an Argus. They were in the head of Blanche’s own cousin, Scudamore.
The Creole suspected that he had seen her deliver the note, but took care to keep her suspicions to herself.
“No, missy, dear,” she continued. “Doan trouble you head ’bout dat ’ere. Sabby gub de note all right. Darfore why shed you fadda hab ’spicion ’bout it?”