“Yes, ‘m.”
“What is its extent? How many acres are there in it?”
George Washington positively started. He took in several of the family in his glance of warning.
“Well, I declare, marm, I don’t know,” he began; then it occurring to him that the honor of the family was somehow at stake and must be upheld, he added, “A leetle mo’ ‘n a hundred thousan’, marm.” His exactness was convincing. Miss Jemima threw up her hands:
“Prodigious! How many nee—— how many persons of the African blood are there on this vast domain?” she inquired, getting nearer to her point.
George, observing how much she was impressed, eyed her with rising disdain:
“Does you mean niggers, m’m? ‘Bout three thousan’, mum.”
Another exclamation of astonishment burst from the old lady’s lips.
“If you will permit me to inquire, Uncle George, how old are you?”
“She warn see if I kin wuck—dat’s what she’s after,” said George to himself, with a confidential look at a young gentleman in a hunting dress on the wall between two windows. Then he said: