“You swear off the account, you infernal rascal!—you swear off the account, do you?”
“All de credit is fair, old Massa,” answered Toney.
“Yes, but—” said the disappointed Captain, “but—but—” still the Captain was sorely puzzled how to give Toney a few licks any how, “but—” an idea popped into his head, “where’s my costs, you incorrigible, abominable scoundrel? You want to swindle me, do you, out of my costs, you black, deceitful rascal! And,” added Captain Stick, chuckling as well at his own ingenuity, as the perfect justice of the sentence, “I enter judgment against you for costs—ten stripes!” and forthwith administered the stripes and satisfied the judgment.
“Ki nigger!” said Toney; “ki nigger! what dis judgmen’ for coss, ole Massa talk ’bout. Done git off ’bout not blackin’ de boot—git off ’bout stayin’ long time at de mill—and ebry ting else; but dis judgmen’ for coss gim me de debbil! Bress God, nigger must keep out ob de ole stable, or I’ll tell you what, dat judgmen’ for coss make e back feel mighty warm, for true!”
XXI.
THE WAY BILLY HARRIS DROVE THE DRUM-FISH TO MARKET.
The afternoon of a still, sultry day, found us at the Bankhead spring, on Chaptico Bay, Maryland—Billy Harris, old “Blair,” and myself. Billy was seated on the head of his canoe, leisurely discussing a bone and a slice of bread, the remnant of his mid-day’s repast on the river; old “Blair” was busily engaged in overhauling and arranging the fish that he had taken in the course of the morning: while I, in a state of half-listlessness, half-doziness, was seated on the trunk of an uprooted cedar near the spring, with my head luxuriously reclining against the bank.
“Well, this is about as pooty a fish as I’ve had the handling ov for some time,” remarked old “Blair,” holding up and surveying with much satisfaction a rock about two feet and a half in length.
“Smart rock that,” said Billy, as he measured the fish with his eye. “What an elegint team a couple o’ dozen o’ that size would make!”
“Elegint what, Mr. Harris?” inquired old “Blair,” depositing the fish under the bushes in the bow of his canoe, and turning round towards Billy.
“Why, an elegint team for a man to travel with,” replied Billy. “Did I never tell you ’bout my driving the drums to the Alexandri’ market?” he added, at the same time casting a furtive glance in the direction of the spot where I was seated.