The cook snorted.
“I'd feel dat much mo' nekked an' hongry, dat's how I'd feel.”
“Perhaps, if you'd start over, he might give you a better wage.”
“Huh!” she snorted in an access of irony. “I see dat skinflint gib'n' me a better wage. Puuh!” The suddenly she realized where the conversation had wandered, and stared at the secretary with widening eyes “Good Lawd! Did dat fool Cap'n set up a nigger in dis bedroom winder jes to ketch ole Rose packin' off a few ole lef'-overs?” Peter began a hurried denial, but she rushed on: “'Fo' Gawd, I hopes his viddles chokes him! I hope his ole smoke-house falls down on his ole haid. I hope to Jesus—”
Peter pleaded with her not to think the Captain was behind his observations, but the hag rushed out of the bedroom, swinging her head from side to side, uttering the most terrible maledictions. She would show him! She wouldn't put another foot in his old kitchen. Wild horses couldn't drag her into his smoke-house again.
Peter ran to the door and called after her down the piazza, trying to exonerate the Captain: but she either did not or would not hear, and vanished into the kitchen, still furious.
Old Rose made Peter so uneasy that he deserted his breakfast midway and hurried to the library. In the solemn old room he found the Captain alone and in
