“What the ole Nick air ye whisperin’ ’beout?” he asked, seeing them with their heads together. “Plotting some kind o’ a conspyracy, air ye? Wal, plot away. Ef ye kin think o’ any way that’ll git ye clear o’ payin’ me your hundred dollars apiece pree-annum, I’d like to hear it. I know a way, myself, maybe you’d like to hear it?”
“Let’s hear it, then!”
“Wal, I am open to a offer, or, I’ll make one to you; whichsomever you weesh.”
“Make it!”
“Durn it, don’t be so short ’beout it. I only want to be accommodatin’. Ef you’ll each an’ all o’ ye pay me five hundred a piece, down on the nail, an’ no darduckshin, I’ll gie you a clar receet, an’ squar up the hul buzness now!”
“We can’t give you an answer now, Jerry Rook,” interposed the planter, without waiting for the others. “We shall consider your proposal, and tell you some other time.”
“Wal, tak’ yur own time; but remember, all o’ ye, thet Saturday nex air the day of the annival settlin’; an’ don’t fail to meet me at the usooal place. I hain’t no spare beds, or I’d ask you all in; but I s’pose ye’ll be a goin’ back wi’ Mr Slaughter thar, an’ havin’ a drink by way o’ night cap? Don’t forgit your spades; they mout git stole ef you left ’em hyar.”
This bit of irony terminated the scene, so far as the disappointed resurrectionists were concerned, who, like, a band of prowling jackals, scared from a carcass, turned in their tracks and sneaked sulkily away.
“He! he! he!” chuckled the old pirate, as he stood watching them. “Out of the field—he! he! he!” he continued, stooping over the fresh turned earth, and examining their work. “They war playin’ a game wi’ poor cards in thar hand—the set o’ cussed greenhorns! Durnation!”
That this last exclamation had no reference to the episode just ended, was evident from the cloud that passed over his countenance while giving utterance to it. Something else had come into his thoughts, all at once changing them from gay to grave.