up and down keeping carefully within the territory assigned him.
“Dis planter chap,” he said, pausing before Boston Harry, “w’ot makes yer t’ink he’s got de tin in de house wit’ ’im?”
“I’m advised of the facts in the case,’’ said Boston. “He drove to Noo Orleans and got it, I say, to-day. Want to change your mind now and come in?”
“Naw, I was just askin’. Wot kind o’ team did de boss drive?”
“Pair of grays.”
“Double surrey?”
“Yep.”
“Women folks along?”
“Wife and kid. Say, what morning paper are you trying to pump news for?”
“I was just conversin’ to pass de time away. I guess dat team passed me in de road dis evenin’. Dat’s all.”
As Whistling Dick put his hands into his pockets and continued his curtailed beat up and down by the fire, he felt the silk stocking he had picked up in the road.
“Ther bloomin’ little skeezicks,” he muttered, with a grin.
As he walked up and down he could see, through a sort of natural opening or lane among the trees, the planter’s residence some seventy-five yards distant. The side of the house toward him exhibited spacious, well-lighted windows through which a soft radiance streamed, illuminating the broad veranda and some extent of the lawn beneath.
