"No," was the reply. "He has gone back to Sandy Hook. He wrote that his health was better, and that he wanted to resume work on a new type of gun."
"I guess he's afraid you'll beat him out, Tom," laughed Ned. "You take my advice, and look out for General Waller."
"Nonsense! I say, Rad! Look out with those primers!"
"I'se lookin' out, Massa Tom. Golly, I don't laik dis yeah job at all! I—I guess I'd better be gittin' at dat whitewashin', Massa Tom. Dat back fence suah needs a coat mighty bad."
"Never you mind about the whitewashing, Rad. You just stick around here for a while. I may need you to sit on the cannon to hold it down."
"Sit on a cannon, Massa Tom! Say, looky heah now! You jest take dese primary things from dish yeah coon. I—I'se got t' go!"
"Why, what's the matter, Rad? Surely you're not afraid; are you?" and Tom winked at Ned.
"No, Massa Tom, I'se not prezactly 'skeered, but I done jest 'membered dat I didn't gib mah mule Boomerang any oats t'day, an' he's suahly gwine t' be desprit mad at me fo' forgettin' dat. I—I'd better go!"
"Nonsense, Rad! I was only fooling. You can go as soon as we get to my private proving grounds, if you like. But you'll have to carry those primers, for all the rest of us have our hands full. Only be careful of 'em!"
"I—I will, Massa Tom."