“Goot Shakra, I washn’t quite sure till now. The wench Cynthy thought ash how you had followed the Cushtos.”
“Whugh! dat ’ere gal talk too much. She hab her tongue ’topped ’fore long. She muss hab her tongue ’topp, else she gess boaf o’ us in trouble. Nebba mind! A make dat all right too—by-’m-bye. Now, Massr Jake, a want dat odder twenty-five pound. De job am finish, an’ de work am done. Now’s de time fo’ de pay.”
“That ish right, Shakra. I hash the monish here in red gold. There it ish.”
As the Jew said this, he passed a bag containing gold into the hands of Chakra.
“You’ll find it ish all counted correct. Twenty-five poundsh currenshy. Fifty pounsh altogether, ash agreed. A deal of monish—a deal of monish, s’ help me!”
Chakra made no reply to this significant insinuation; but, taking the bag, deposited it in the lining of his skin kaross, as he did so giving utterance to his favourite ejaculation, “Whugh!” the meaning of which varied according to the accentuation given to it.
“And now, goot Shakra!” continued the Jew: “I hash more work for you. There ish another shpell wanted, for which you shall have another fifty poundsh; but firsht tell me, hash you seen anyone to-day on your travels?”
“Seed any one, eh? Well, dat am a quessin, Massr Jake. A seed a good wheen on my trabbels: more’n seed me, I’se be boun’.”
“But ash you seen anyone ash you know?”
“Sartin a did—de Cussus fo’ one, tho’, by de gollies! a hardly wud a knowd him, he wa’ so fur gone—moas to de bone! He am almos’ as much a ’keleton as ole Chakra hisself. Ha! ha! ha!”