To this Pedro replied contemptuously, “Oh, indeed!” and, turning abruptly away, rode on.
“You doubt that man?” said Lawrence, following him.
“I do.”
“He looked honest.”
“Men are not always to be judged by their looks.”
“Das a fact!” interposed Quashy; “what would peepil judge ob me, now, if dey hoed by looks?”
“They’d say you were a fine, genial, hearty, good-natured blockhead,” said Lawrence, laughing.
“True, massa, you’s right. I’m all dat an’ wuss, but not always dat. Sometimes I’m roused; an’ I’m awrful w’en I’m roused! You should see me w’en my back’s riz. Oh my!”
The negro opened his eyes and mouth so awfully at the mere idea of such a rising that his companions were fain to seek relief in laughter. Even the grave Manuela gave way to unrestrained merriment, for if she failed to thoroughly understand Quashy’s meaning, she quite understood his face.
That night they found welcome shelter in a small farm.