“Fus’ rate, Marster Harrin’ton. Right glad to git away from them soul-drivers, Marster. Hope you’ll scuse me, Marster Harrin’ton, for goin’ out that Sunday, an’ givin’ you such a heap o’ trouble, Marster. I aint wuth much trouble, Marster.”
“Did you think I would find you again, Antony?”
“Yes, Marster.”
“What made you think so?”
“Thought you’d git it out o’ some o’ them books in your house, Marster.”
“You can read, Antony?”
“Ruther p’orly, Marster. Never had much chance at books. Often felt as if I’d like to git a chance, but couldn’t git none. Had a hard time in this world, an’ been kep’ down awful, Marster.”
Harrington did not reply, and for a few minutes there was silence.
“Feel tired, Marster Harrin’ton?” asked Antony.