"Young Mistuh Hollister I should say, Suh," says he.
"Well, well!" says I, gawpin' at him. "You lookin' for Robin Hollister too? Why, so am I!"
"Then we ought to find him between us, hadn't we?" says he, smilin' friendly. "Lott's my name, Suh."
"Wha-a-at!" says I, grinnin' broad as the combination strikes me. "Not Uncle Noah Lott?"
"It's a powerful misleadin' name, I got to admit," says he, returnin' the grin; "but I reckon my folks didn't figure jes' how it was goin' to sound when they tacked the Noah onto me, or else they didn't allow for my growin' up so simple. But I've had it so long I'm used to it, and so is most everyone else down in my part of Jawgy."
"Ah!" says I. "Then you're from Georgia, eh? Down where they sent Robin, I expect?"
"That's right," says he. "I'm from Goober."
"Goober!" I echoes. "Say, that's a choice one too! No wonder Robin couldn't stand it! Sent you up to fetch him back, did they?"
"No, Suh," says he. "Mistuh Phil Hollister didn't send me at all. I jes' come, Suh, and I can't say if I'm goin' to carry him back or no. You see it's like this: Robin, he's a good boy. We set a heap by him, we do. And Robin was doin' well, keepin' the bale books, lookin' after the weighin', and takin' general charge around the cotton gin. Always had a good word for me in the mornin' when I hands over the keys, me bein' night watchman, Suh. 'Well, Uncle Noah,' it would be, 'didn't let anybody steal presses, did you?' 'No, Mistuh Robin,' I'd say, 'didn't lose nary press last night, and only part of the smokestack.' We was that way, me and Robin. And when Mistuh Phil and his folks started off to visit their married daughter, up in Richmond, he says to me, 'Uncle Noah, I expect you to look after Robin while I'm gone, and see that he don't git into no trouble.' Them was his very words, Suh."
"And Robin's kept you busy, eh?" says I.