“Yesh—yesh! dat ish only shust and fair. Obi should be paid; but shay, goot Shakra! how much ish his prishe for a shpell of thish kind?”
“Ef he hab no interest hisseff in de workin’ ob de ’pell, he want a hunder poun’. When he hab interest, das different—den he take fifty.”
“Fifty poundsh! That ish big monish, good Shakra! In thish case Obi hash an interest—more ash anybody elshe. He hash an enemy, and wants refenge. Ish that not true, goot Shakra!”
“Das da troof. Chakra no go fo’ deny ’im. But das jess why Obi ’sent do dat leetle chore fo’ fifty poun’. Obi enemy big buckra—’trong as you hab jess say—berry diff’cult fo’ ’pell ’im. Any odder myal-man charge de full hunder poun’. Fack, no odder able do de job—no odder but ole Chakra hab dat power.”
“Shay no more about the prishe. Fifty poundsh be it. Here’sh half down.” The tempter tossed a purse containing coin into the outstretched palm of the obeah-man. “All I shtipulate for ish, that in three weeks you earn the other half; and then we shall both be shquare with the Cushtos Vochan—for I hash my refenge to shatisfy ash well as you, Shakra.”
“Nuff sed, Massr Jake. ’Fore tree day de ’pell sha’ be put on. You back come to de Duppy Hole tree night from dis, you hear how ’im work. Whugh!”
The gourd shell was again brought into requisition; and, after a parting “kiss” at the cognac, the “heel-tap” of which remained in the hut, the precious pair emerged into the open air.
The priest of Obi having conducted his fellow-conspirator across the lagoon, returned to his temple, and set himself assiduously to finish what was left of the liquor.
“Whugh!” ejaculated he, in one of the pauses that occurred between two vigorous pulls at the bottle; “ole villum Jew wuss dan Chakra—wuss dan de Debbil hisseff! Doan’ know why he want rebbenge. Das nuffin’ to me. I want rebbenge, an’, by de great Accompong! I’se a g’wine to hab it! Ef dis gal proob true, as de odder’s did—she muss proob true—in tree week de proud, fat buckra jussis dat condemn me to dat Jumbé Rock—‘Cussos rodelorum,’ as de call ’im—won’t hab no more flesh on ’im bones dan de ’keleton he tink wa’ myen. And den, when ’im die—ah! den, affer ’im die, de daughter ob dat Quasheba dat twenty year ’go ’corn de lub ob de Coromantee for dat ob de yellow Maroon—maybe her dauter, de Lilly Quasheba, sleep in de arms ob Chakra de myal-man! Whugh!”
As the minister of Obi gave utterance to this hypothetical threat, a lurid light glared un in his sunken eyes, while his white, sharklike teeth were displayed in an exulting grin—hideous as if the Demon himself were smiling over some monstrous menace!