the outside." Guinea sat up, made a pivot of his middle-rear, swung around, and motioned Zack to a seat. "The world ain't no bigger'n a sardine box. Set down. Where are you going?"
Zack's tongue untied itself and started wagging, "I'm aimin' to git off at Afriky Landin'. Me an' Cunnel is done traveled a far ways to l'arn dem niggers how to plant cotton. I reckon I knows all 'bout cotton, an' all 'bout niggers too. Now dar's de Cunnel—yonder he, 'sleep in dat chair, wid dem white clothes on—he's gwine wid me to he'p show 'em how."
"Show 'em how to do what?"
"Make cotton. You see, Mister, I got a plantation, an' Cunnel he owns a little lan'—dat's how come dese gent'men 'vailed on me an' him. Dey jes nacherly had de fidgets till us got started to Afriky Landin'."
"I wonder if that can be new Sudan Syndicate—at Wadi Okar?" Guinea spoke aloud, but it was to himself.
"Yas, suh, I sho heered 'em call dat name 'Suzanne'—Mrs. Suzanne sumbody or 'nother. We's gwine up on her place. Widders can't never manage dey own property."
Far be it from Guinea to smile and scare off a good thing. But he knew that vast Sudan—and knew the syndicate whose ambition it was to
