The door of the bedroom was unlocked, and the darky came hurriedly into the room. He was shaking with excitement, and lost not a moment hurrying to Matt’s side.
“Marse Kelly would kill me daid ef he knew whut Ah was doin’,” muttered the old negro. “We’s got tuh hurry, Marse Matt. Marse Partington didn’t want Marse Kelly, en dar’s gwine ter be ructions when Kelly gits back.”
With trembling fingers he plucked away the gag.
“Don’t be scared, Uncle Tom,” said Matt reassuringly. “Just get my hands loose and I’ll take care of Kelly if he tries to interfere with us. I’ll look after you.”
“Ah’s done lost mah job, Motah Matt,” quavered Uncle Tom, as he worked at the rope around Matt’s wrists. “Ah’s done got tuh git away f’om dis club place er dat ’ar Kelly will prove de def ob me.”
“You can go away with me,” said Matt.
“But dey all owes me fo’ dollahs fo’ wo’k!”
“I’ll pay you five times that, Uncle Tom, for what you’re doing.”
“Golly!” and the old negro’s courage seemed to return; “five times fo’ is fifty. Whatum Ah gwine tuh do wif fifty dollahs? Ah won’t hab tuh wo’k no mo’ fo’ six mont’s.”
Uncle Tom’s multiplication was of a weird variety, but Matt did not correct his mistake.