Couldn't have a better
investment than to keep him!"
Mr. Grabguy considers and reconsiders the matter over in his mind;
paces up and down the floor several times, commences humming a tune,
steps to the door, looks up and down the street, and says, "Well,
I'll be moving homeward, I will."
"Like yer custom, that I do; but then, knowing what I can do with
the fellow, I feels stiff about letting him go," interposes Graspum,
with great indifference, following to the door, with hands extended.
This is rather too insinuating for Mr. Grabguy. Never did piece of
property loom up so brightly, so physically and intellectually
valuable. He will return to the table. Taking his seat again, he
draws forth a piece of paper, and with his pencil commences figuring
upon it. He wants to get at the cost of free and slave labour, and
the relative advantages of the one over the other. After a deal of
multiplying and subtracting, he gives it up in despair. The fine
proportions of the youth before him distract his very brain with
contemplation. He won't bother another minute; figures are only
confusions: so far as using them to compute the relative value of
free and slave labour, they are enough to make one's head ache.
"Would ye like to go with me, boy? Give ye enough to eat, but make
ye toe the mark!" He looks at Nicholas, and waits a reply.
"Don't matter!" is the boy's answer. "Seems as if nobody cared for
me; and so I don't care for nobody."
"That's enough," he interrupts, turning to Graspum: "there's a
showing of grit in that, eh?"
"Soon take it out," rejoins that methodical gentleman.
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