"I give you my word, an' you know whut that means."
"Yas, suh, I knows all 'bout dat, but er word kain't stop er bullet."
Over to the old negro he slowly walked and gently put his hand on his shoulder: "My word can, old man—mine has, an' I will protect you with my life."
"Yas, suh, an' I'll stay, but ef I gits killed I gwine hol' you 'sponsible. Mark whut I tells you." He turned to go and at that moment Peters entered the room. The negro quickly shambled to get out of his way, and halted in the door.
"Starbuck," said the visitor, "thought I'd drap over to see you ag'in. And whut's that nigger always hangin' round fur when I want to talk to you?"
"Lives here, don't he?"
"That ourt ter settle it but, I lay it won't," muttered the negro, standing in the door. Peters turned toward him with the remark:
"That vote they give you don't count for much."
"No, suh, not till da counts it."
"Shut up."