"What is he like, Nigra?"
She sat down and began to laugh. She laughed till her mouth nearly reached her ears; she laughed till her turban nodded and shook, and her shoulders shook, and she shook all over. She laughed, I know not why. "What he like? Ho! Ho! Ho! Massa Jack—what he like?"
"Well, but, Nigra, tell me how you know him when you see him."
"Massa Jack," she became serious as suddenly as she had fallen into her fit of laughter. "Look ye here. When you see de debble—then you know de debble." So saying, she turned to the table again and began to gather up her unholy possessions.
"Well, but Nigra, I am not the devil, and so you may as well tell me whose fortune you are telling."
"Missy's fortune."
"What is it?"
She shook her head. "Can't tell you, Massa Jack. Mustn't tell you."
"Why not? Come, Nigra, you know that I desire the very best fortune for her that can be given to any one."
She hesitated. Then she laid her hand on mine. "Massa Jack," she said, "I tell her fortune your people's way, by the cards, and my people's way, by the gri-gri and the skull. It's always the same fortune."