"Yes, an' mebby git hit by a comet or be kamked sensible by a piece ob star," objected Washington, as if Jack's plan was a feasible one. "No, sah, I ain't gwine along nohow. Dis ole earth am good enough fo' me. I don't want to die an' go floatin' through space. When I dies I wants t' be buried decent–like. I ain't gwine wid yo' at all."
It began to look as if Washington's revolt was a settled fact. Yet they depended on him to go. However, Professor Henderson solved the problem for him.
"Who will cook my meals for me, if you don't go, Washington?" he asked solemnly.
"Is you really goin', perfesser?"
"I certainly am."
"An' yo' t'ink it's safe?"
"Yes, or I shouldn't go. But I can't have much comfort if I don't have my meals right, for I can't cook very well, and as for Jack and Mark—"
"Hu! Dem boys can't cook wuff a cent. Is dey gwine t' go 'long?"
"We sure are," answered Jack.
"Hu! Den I 'spects I'se got t' go," said the colored man, scratching his head in perplexity. "I can't let de perfesser go alone, wid nobody t' do his cookin' fer him. Well, I'll go, but—but I'se mighty skeered, jest de same."