“And she saysh she will help you to set the obeah-shpell for him?”
“Hab no fear—she do all dat. Obi had spell oba her, dat make her do mose anythin—ah! any thin’ in de worl’—satin shoo. Obi all-powerful wi’ dat gal.”
“Yesh, yesh!” assented the Jew; “I knowsh all that. And if Obi wash to fail,” added he, doubtingly, “you hash a drink, goot Shakra—I know you hash a drink, ash potent as Obi or any other of your gotsh.”
A glance of mutual intelligence passed between the two.
“How long dosh it take your shpell to work?” inquired the penn-keeper, after an interval of silence, in which he seemed to be making some calculation.
“Dat,” replied the negro, “dat depend altogedder on de saccomstance ob how long de spell am wanted to work. Ef ’im wanted, Chakra make ’im in tree day fotch de ’trongest indiwiddible cla out o’ ’im boots; or in tree hour he do same—but ob coorse dat ud be too soon fo’ be safe. A spell of tree hours too ’trong. Dat not Obi work—’im look berry like pisen.”
“Poison—yesh, yesh, it would.”
“Tree day too short—tree week am de correct time. Den de spell work ’zackly like fever ob de typos. Nobody had s’picion ’bout ’um.”
“Three weeks, you shay? And no symptoms to make schandal? You’re shure that ish sufficient? Remember, Shakra; the Cushtos ish a strong man—strong ash a bull.”
“No mar’r ’bout dat. Ef he ’trong as de bull, in dat period ob time he grow weak as de new-drop calf—I’se be boun’ he ’taggering Bob long ’fore dat. You say de word, Massr Jake. Obi no like to nigga. Nigga only brack man: he no get pay fo’ ’im work. Obi ’zemble buckra man. He no work ’less him pay.”