“Now fur the loot!” cried James Hanks. “An’ we mus’ hurry up, ’cause whin the ol’ tabbies gits home from the ball they mus’n’t be hide or har of the house lef’ standin’.”
“Bus’ open the bar’l er coal ile!” suggested one black brute, “so’s we can pour her on.”
“They keep the coal ile in the woodshed,” a little bandy-legged man remarked.
“Now see hyar! Befo’ we enter this here domicyle, they’s to be a reg’lar understandin’ ’bout the findin’s,” continued James Hanks. “The money is to be ’vided ekal an’ the silvo and chino an’ other little value bowles is to be portioned out ’cordin’ to they valubility.”
“Sho’! Sho’! We’s all ’greed to that!” came in a chorus.
“I goes fust, as the man ’pinted by Gawd as yo’ leader.”
As James Hanks started up the broad steps he was dumfounded when Dr. Wright came forward. He retreated down the steps and the crowd of darkies behind him surged backward.
“What is it you want?” asked the young physician quite simply, in a voice as cool and natural as though he were a soda clerk dealing out soft drinks.
“We—er—we—we didn’t know any of the white folks was in.”
“Exactly!” and Dr. Wright came closer to the nonplussed darky. “Perhaps God has appointed me to defend this home.”