Donald finished a long peroration in the same carefully chosen words with which he had just finished a report to his board of directors at home.
Spottiswoode had been quietly observing the negroes upon whom they must depend for labor, and he more than half agreed with Zack, who said, "Cunnel, d'aint nary dime's wuth o' diff'unce twixt dese niggers an' dem what us got on Sherwood—'cept dese niggers ain't got to hustle fer pervisions an' Christmas money."
Mr. Bim predicted an awakening, and got it—for himself and Lyttleton. Zack never waked, for he had never been to sleep. He wasn't disappointed; he could sit all day digging his heels into the soft earth, sending little clods tumbling into the Nile, and shouting for Said when he wanted a drink of water.
After his negroes had unanimously and simultaneously abandoned their unnecessary labors, Mr. Bim raged on the porch; Zack grinned; "Now, ef dat was de Cunnel trompin' up an' down dat gallery, I wouldn't go nigh him fer nuthin'. But, Mister Bim, I reckin' he'd be glad fer most anybody to throw him a rope." Which correctly diagnosed McDonald's spiritual condition.
When Zack observed Mr. Bim come out, wearing his dinner jacket, and drop limply into a
