“De big boat for Cincinatti—da Massonry Belle, dey calls her.”
De Hauteroche turned towards me with a look expressive of stupified wonder.
“What!” he gasped out, “what can this fellow mean?”
“Answer me, Pluto,” said I, addressing myself to the domestic, “you say you drove your mistress and Mademoiselle to the boat—the Missouri Belle?”
“Ya, massr, dat for sarting.”
“And did they embark in her?”
“Sarting, massr, I seed um go off afore I leff de waff.”
“A gentleman accompanied them?”
“Ob coos, Massr Hoteroche ’companied dem.”
“Who said it was Monsieur De Hauteroche?”