“Depend upon that,” responded his companion. “You had better go out at this side door.”
The captain was going out as directed, when he quickly asked, “When shall I see you again?”
“To-morrow night,” replied his associate.
“Agreed.”
When his visiter had taken his departure, the broker seemed to have forgotten the losses that had affected him so much a short time previous. His unprepossessing countenance appeared lit up with a continual smile of inward satisfaction, as he leaned back upon his chair, occasionally resting his hands upon his capacious stomach, then crossing his arms—then leaning his chin upon his hand as if in deep reflection, uttering such ejaculations as “capital scheme”—“hazardous though”—“daring villain”—“worth the risk,” and others of a similar nature—till the wondering Quagga, neither daring to move or to speak, began to imagine that his tyrannical master had lost the use of his senses. At that moment the door opened again, and the same slave made his appearance.
“Ha, Beelzebub!” shouted Master Boor, “what now?”
“Massa Porfry, sar, and young gennleman ob colour wish to peak wi’ you,” said the youth.
“Admit them,” he exclaimed. Then in a lower tone said, “Coloured persons! what can he mean by bringing such vermin here?” However, though considering the introduction of such a person an indignity, the game he had to play induced him for the present to forget his prejudices, and he met his visitors with every appearance of cordiality.
“Welcome to Caffreton, welcome to the sunny shores of Afrik;” he cried as they advanced into the room. “The land of universal liberty.—Quagga, tell those slaves if I hear them chattering again, I’ll give them the lash——!”