“Marse Tom,” he said, with some hesitation, “is dere any objection to informationing me concerning de percise objec’ ob dis here penguination?”
“Why, no, Jupe,” rejoined Jack, with a smile at the old negro’s remarkable choice of what he himself would have called “highfaluting” words, “the Sea King, with my father on board, as you know, is in some sort of trouble, and we are going to the rescue as fast as we can.”
“How you find out dat, Marse Jack?” asked the old man, with a tinge of suspicion in his voice.
“By wireless, Jupe.”
“What!” in a tone of frank unbelief, “yo’ all mean ter tell me dat dat birdcage rigamarole ob yo’s done tell yo’ all dat?”
“That’s right, Jupe.”
“Sho’ now! Yo’ ain’t foolin’ de ole man, Marse Jack? Dat conjo’ wire done tell yo’ all dat?”
“Of course. I should have thought that you’d seen enough of it at High Towers to know what it could do.”
“Humph!” the old negro scratched his head in a puzzled way, “yo mean dose eccentrical wabes, as yo’ call ’em, done come all de way frum Marse Chadwick’s boat to de island?”
“Just what I do, Jupe. It’s the same thing as chucking a stone in a pond. You know how the waves and ripples spread out and out in circles that get bigger and bigger?”