“Arter what, massa?”
“After finding that slobbering and wringing your hands did no good.”
“Oh! arter dat, I not know what to do, an’ den I tried to die—I was so mis’rable. But I couldn’t. You’ve no notion how hard it is to die when you wants to. Anyhow I couldn’t manage it, so I gib up tryin’.”
At this point Manuela rose, and, bidding Pedro good-night in the Indian tongue, passed into her little chamber and shut the door.
“And what do you intend to do now, Quash?” asked Lawrence.
“Stick to you, massa, troo t’ick an’ t’in,” returned the negro with emphatic promptitude, which caused even Pedro to laugh.
“My poor fellow, that is impossible,” said Lawrence, who then explained his position and circumstances, showing how it was that he had little money and no immediate prospect of obtaining any,—that, in short, he was about to start out in the wide world friendless and almost penniless to seek his fortune. To all of which the negro listened with a face so utterly devoid of expression of any kind that his old master and playmate could not tell how he took it.
“And now,” he asked in conclusion, “what say you to all that?”
“Stick to you troo t’ick and t’in,” repeated Quashy, in a tone of what might be styled sulky firmness.
“But,” said Lawrence, “I can’t pay you any wages.”