“I’s been libin’ on dis earth nigh on to a hunnert year, an’ I’se larn to know people you can trus’ at fust sight. Y’all sho belongst to dat class.”
“Thank you, Uncle Mose. We’ll try to live up to your good opinion of us.” Kitty saw it was useless to try to hurry him, though she was terrified for fear Beeson would come and catch them here.
“What was it you want her to write?” asked Brad, not quite so patient as Kitty.
“Suh, I sees you’s a sailor an’ defender o’ our country like mah young Massa. You wear de same color uniform, too, an’ I knows you’s to be trusted.”
“I hope so, Uncle.”
“An’ you knows as well as I does dat it ain’t right fer no white man in dese times to be hobnobbin’ wid furriners. Dis war we’s fightin’ is wid furriners, ain’t it?”
“It sure is, Uncle Mose,” replied Brad. “But what white man is hobnobbing with foreigners?”
“Mr. Beeson. Dey comes here right often at night—an’ always goes away wid boxes an’ bundles.”
Kitty and Brad exchanged startled glances.
“How do you know his callers are foreigners?” asked Brad.