A blush overspread the girl’s face as Crookleg spoke. She did not answer him.
“He said to me,” continued the negro, “dat I were to tell de lady” (here he chuckled), “dat he de gen’l’m’ couldn’ come to meet her to-night, on accoun’ o’ de ole man his bossy wot hab gib him somethin’ ’tickler to do. He send ole Crookleg to tell her dat, and gib her sometin’ what I’ve got hyar in my pocket, he! he! he!”
Saying these words, the monster made a series of movements, having in view the discovery of his pocket.
After a most elaborate and vigorous search for its aperture among the multitudinous rags, he succeeded in finding it. Then, plunging his long right arm therein up to the elbow, he drew forth a small parcel wrapped in white paper, and tied with a string of dazzling beads.
With another acrobatic bound, he handed it to the trembling girl.
“Dere it am, safe and soun’. Dis ole nigga nebba lose nuffin and offen find a good deal. Dat, says de gen’l’m’, is for de most lubbly of her seek, de Missy Sansuta.”
The tender look accompanying this speech was something hideous to behold.
Sansuta hesitated before taking the parcel from him, as if in doubt whether she should not decline it.
“Da! take it,” urged he; “’tain’t nuffin as’ll go off and hurt ye; dis nigga kin swar to dat!”
Not so much this friendly assurance as a resolution the girl had come to, decided her.