“He hash trouble for me. It ish not like to come so soon now, ash the Cushtos ish out of the way. But who knowsh how soon? And better ash the shpell should be set at once. So, good Shakra, if you can manish to do for Cubina in as short a time ash you hash done the Cushtos, there ish another fifty poundsh ready for you.”
“A’ll do ma bess, Massr Jake, to earn you money. All do ma bess—de bess can do no mo.”
“That ish true, goot Shakra! Don’t you think this wench, Cynthy, can help you?”
“Not a bit ob help from dat quar’r—not worth a ’traw for ’pelling Cubina. He no let de m’latta come nigh o’ ’im fo’ no considerashun. He sick ob de sight o’ her. Besides, dat gal, she know too much now. She one ob dese days fotch de white folk to de Duppy Hole. Dat nebba do. No furrer use now. She hab serb her turn, an’ mus’ be got rid ob—muss go ’long wi’ de odders—long wi’ de Cussus. Da’s my way—de only way keep a woman tongue tied, am to ’top ’um waggin’ altogedder. Whugh!”
After uttering the implied threat, the monster stood silent a moment, as if reflecting upon some mode by which he could make away with the life of the mulatta.
“You think, Shakra, you ish likely to find somebody elshe to assist you?”
“Nebba fear, Massr Jake. Leab dat to ole Chakra—ole Chakra an’ ole Obi. Dey do de bizness widout help from any odder.”
“Fifty poundsh, then, Shakra. Ach! I’d give twice the monish—yes, s’help me, ten times the monish—if I knew it wash all right with young Vochan. Ach! where ish he gone?”
The expression of bitter chagrin, almost anguish, with which the villainous old Jew, for at least the tenth time on that day, repeated this interrogative formula, told that, of all the matters upon his mind, the absence of his book-keeper was the one uppermost, and deemed by him of most importance.
“Blesh my soul!” continued he, lifting his umbrella high in air, and continuing to hold it up, “Blesh my soul! if he ish gone for goot, I shall have all thish trouble for nothing—all the cr-r—inconvenience!”