“Dat’s zackly what I’s a-doin’, sar.”
“A long one?”
“Well, dat depends on what you call short. Goin’ to Sunda Straits, which p’raps you know, sar, is nigh a hundred miles fro’ here.”
“And what may you be going to do there?” asked Nigel.
“Goin’ home to Krakatoa.”
“Why, I thought that was an uninhabited island. I passed close to it on my way here, and saw no sign of inhabitants.”
“Dat’s cause I was absint fro’ home. An’ massa he keeps indoors a good deal.”
“And pray who is massa?” asked Nigel.
“Sar,” said the negro, drawing up his square sturdy frame with a look of dignity; “fair-play is eberyt’ing wid me. You’ve ax me a heap o’ questions. Now’s my turn. Whar you comes fro’?”
“From England,” replied Nigel.