“Well, I declare, mum, you got me dyah. I ixpec’ I is mos ninety years ole, I reckon I’se ol’er ‘n you is—I reckon I is.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Miss Jemima with a little start as if she had pricked her finger with a needle.
“Marse Nat kin tell you,” continued George; “if you don’t know how ole you is, all you got to do is to ax him, an’ he kin tell you—he got it all set down in a book—he kin tell how ole you is to a day.”
“Dear, how frightful!” exclaimed Miss Jemima, just as the Major entered somewhat hastily.
“He’s a gone coon,” said George Washington through the crack of the door to the old gentleman in ruffles, as he pulled the door slowly to from the outside.
The Major had left the young people in the dining-room and had come to get a book to settle a disputed quotation. He had found the work and was trying to read it without the ignominy of putting on his glasses, when Miss Jemima accosted him.
“Major, your valet appears to be a very intelligent person.”
The Major turned upon her.
“My ‘valet’! Madam! I have no valet!”
“I mean your body servant, your butler”—explained Miss Jemima. “I have been much impressed by him.”