He opened his eyes when Mike shook him
gently, and looked at the two men at the side of his bed with a
wondering rather than an alarmed expression.
"Who dar?" inquired the negro.
"Good-morning, Uncle Job," replied Mike, taking the hand of the aged
colored person. "How is your health?"
"Don't hab no healf, massa," replied Job, gazing earnestly at the
intruder upon his slumbers.
"Don't you know me, Uncle Job?"
"'Pears like I do; I reckon you's Massa Cap'n Flanger."
"Not exactly; but I'm his man, Mike Bornhoff."
"Jes' so; you was born ob de debbil," replied the old negro, rising in
his bed, and showing all his remaining teeth in an expansive smile.
"He remembers me," said Mike turning to the lieutenant. "We have struck
the right man. But he don't mean that I am any wickeder than the rest of
the world. I used to be called here by my last name, and Job invented
the pun he has just used."
"Why do you say that we have struck the right man, Mike?" asked Mr.
Pennant, caring little for the former relations of the two men.
"Because, though he don't look it, he is the best posted nigger in these
parts. He is the wise man among his people, and a sort of leader among
them, and fetich man besides."
"All right; get him up if you can.
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