"By the way, Rose, in the future I must request you to use extraordinary precautions in cleansing and dusting articles of my household furniture, or, in case of damage, I shall be forced to withhold an indemnification out of your pay."
Eight or ten years ago, when the Captain first repeated this formula to his servant, the roll and swing of his rhetoric, and the last word, "pay," had built up lively hopes in Rose that the old gentleman was announcing an increase in her regular wage of a dollar a week. Experience, however, had long since corrected this faulty interpretation.
She came to a stand in the doorway, with her kinky gray head swung around, half puzzled, wholly rebellious.
"Whut is I bruk now?"
"My globe."
The old woman turned about with more than usual innocence.
"Why, I ain't tech yo' globe!"
"I foresaw that," agreed the Captain, with patient irony, "but in the future don't touch it more carefully. You bent its pivot the last time you refrained from handling it."
"But I tell you I ain't tech yo' globe!" cried the negress, with the anger of an illiterate person who feels, but cannot understand, the satire leveled at her.
"I agree with you," said the Captain, glad the affair was over.