Stuhk laughed.
“Pork-chop, eh? Is that the best you can think of? I know what you mean, though. I’ve thought for some time that you were getting a little overtrained. What you need is—let me see—yes, a nice bottle of wine. That’s the ticket; it will ease things up and won’t do you any harm. I’ll go, with you. Ever had any champagne, Gideon?”
Gideon struggled for politeness.
“Yes, seh, I’s had champagne, and it’s a nice kind of lickeh sho enough; but, Misteh Stuhk, seh, I don’ want any of them high-tone drinks to-night, an’ ef yo’ don’ mind, I’d rather amble off ’lone, or mebbe eat that po’k-chop with some otheh cullud man, ef I kin fin’ one that ain’ one of them no-’count Carolina niggers. Do you s’pose yo’ could let me have a little money to-night, Misteh Stuhk?”
Stuhk thought rapidly. Gideon had certainly worked hard, and he was not dissipated. If he wanted to roam the town by himself, there was no harm in it. The sullenness still showed in the black face; Heaven knew what he might do if he suddenly began to balk. Stuhk thought it wise to consent gracefully.
“Good!” he said. “Fly to it. How much do you want? A hundred?”
“How much is coming to me?”
“About a thousand, Gideon.”
“Well, I’d moughty like five hun’red of it, ef that’s ’greeable to yo’.”
Felix whistled.