"Yaas, suh. Marse Thompson, he read um."
"Now, give us a hand, Ralph," continued the artist. "We'll put the tent on first."
The lad, having bestowed the dishes, lent willing aid in loading the dray, while Mr. Quigg superintended operations.
"I guess you will have to go along with Sam," said he to Ralph. "He'll want some help at unloading. Then you must stay there and watch the things until we come with the next load."
So it was that Ralph found himself presently perched high up on the dray and rattling through the streets, while Sam sat in front, guiding his team by a single rein, and a deal of vociferation.
They came finally to a vacant corner lot where they began to unload.
"Do you know of a man here called Captain Shard?" asked the boy, at length remembering the individual he desired to find.
"Reckon I does. Bless grashus! Ain't I a wukin' fer dat same man de bigger heft er de time?"
"What kind of a man is he?"
"Fust rate; fust rate. Dat is if he don't hab nuttin' begainst yo'. When he do, den—look out."