" The
entertainment was, in Marston's estimation, quite a recherch‚
concern: that his guests should be the better pleased, the venerable
old Daddy Bob, his head white with goodly years of toil, and full of
genuine negro humour, steps forward to perform his part. He makes
his best bows, his best scrapes, his best laughs; and says, "Bob
ready to do anything to please mas'r." He pulls the sleeves of his
jacket, looks vacantly at Harry, is proud to be in the presence of
mas'r's guests. He tells them he is a better nigger "den" Harry,
points to his extremes, which are decorated with a pair of new
russet broghans.
"Daddy's worth his weight in gold," continues Marston, "and can do
as much work as any nigger on the plantation, if he is old."
"No, no, mas'r; I ain't so good what I was. Bob can't tote so much
wid de hoe now. I work first-rate once, mas'r, but 'a done gone
now!"
"Now, Bob, I want you to tell me the truth,--niggers will lie, but
you are an exception, Bob; and can tell the truth when there's no
bacon in the way."
"Gih! Mas'r, I do dat sartin," replied Bob, laughing heartily, and
pulling up the little piece of shirt that peeped out above the
collar of his jacket.
"How did Harry and you come by so much knowledge of the Bible? you
got one somewhere, hav'n't you?" enquired Marston, laconically.
This was rather a "poser" on Bob; and, after stammering and mumbling
for some time-looking at Harry slyly, then at Marston, and again
dropping his eyes on the floor, he ejaculated,
"Well, mas'r, 'spose I might as well own 'im.
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