“Not the paring of a Mandingo’s toe-nail, my paternal friend.”
“Hach! what shay you, mine wise Shoodith?”
“What say I? Simply, that these Mandingoes might as well have been yours without all this trouble. They may be yet—ay, and their master too, if you desire to have a prince for your slave. I do.”
“Speak out, Shoodith; I don’t understand you.”
“You will presently. Didn’t you say, just now, that Captain Jowler has reasons for not coming ashore?”
“Captain Showler! He would rather land in the Cannibal Islands than in Montego Bay. Well, Shoodith?”
“Rabbi Jessuron, you weary my patience. For the Foolah prince—as you say he is—you are answerable only to Captain Jowler. Captain Jowler comes not ashore.”
“True—it ish true,” assented the Jew, with a gesture that signified his comprehension of these preliminary premises.
“Who, then, is to hinder you from doing as you please in the matter of these Mandingoes?”
“Wonderful Shoodith!” exclaimed the father, throwing up his arms, and turning upon his daughter a look of enthusiastic admiration. “Wonderful Shoodith! Joosh the very thing!—blesh my soul!—and I never thought of it!”