work, as he watched the strutting of the fed, the envy of the unfed.
Next morning Mr. Bim counted one hundred and fifteen recruits actually at work. "Ain't I tole you so, Mister Bim?" Zack reminded him. "In two mo' days I'll have niggers in dat fiel' thicker'n boll-weevils." And the laborers might have gone on multiplying like boll-weevils, if Mr. Bim hadn't over-played his hand.
It happened this way: Towards afternoon, two good hours before quitting time, one hundred and fifteen men were plowing, planting, and looking forward to a feast. A ring of others squatted near the eating house, watching to see if the unbelievable could really be true. By testimony of their own eyes they knew that the Black Effendi, who wore the robe of honor, had fried up four noble dishpans of fish. Thereat they licked their chops and squatted around waiting for the distribution.
All of which came under the momentary observation of El Bimbashi McDonald as he hurried from the fields, and whispered to Zack:
"That was a jolly fine idea of yours. Two hundred niggers will soon be here. Keep 'em fed."
"Sho will. But de main thing is to git dat money from 'em, so dey'll hafter work some mo'.'
Flashing an enthusiastic approval at Zack, Mr.
