He stammered a good deal at the start, but was glib enough when he brought out the name. “Didn't I, sister!”
“Yes, sir.” The old woman was manifestly impressed. The preacher's cunning face brightened.
“You see what she says?”
“With its chief office at the Race-course out here,” said Graeme, with a toss of his head. “Look here, I want you to get that money.”
The negro shot a glance at Mam' Lyddy and decided that she would stand by him. He suddenly stiffened up and resumed his affected manner.
“Well, sir, I do not know by what right you interfere with my affairs—or this lady's.”
“You don 't? Well, that's what I am going to show you now. My right is that she is a member of my family, whom I am going to protect from just such scoundrels and thieves as you, Amos Brown.”
The preacher received the name like a blow.
At the words the old mammy jumped as if she were shot. She leaned forward, moving up slowly.
“What's dat?—'Amos Brown'? What's dat you said, Marse Cabell? 'Amos Brown'?”