"You don't know?"
"Nopy. He jest done gone tell me to send dat transmigatory telegraph, an' dat's all."
"But why does he want us? He's not sick, is he?" asked Mark.
"Never felt bettah!" exclaimed Washington as he walked along the street leading from the depot, a valise in either hand. "His state ob health am equal to de sophistication ob de soporiferousness."
"You mean he sleeps well?" questioned Jack.
"Dat's what I done meant to convey to yo', Massa Jack."
"Well, why don't you say it?" asked Mark.
"Dat's jest what I done. I said—"
"Never mind," interrupted Jack.
"Then you can't tell us why the professor sent for us?"