Zack bent over his catch. "Dat's de way to make a nigger ketch fish. Mister Bim, say fer me to wade in. He oughter quit meddlin' wid my bizness. Side, fetch dem fish to de shack, an' git 'em cleaned. I'm gwine to begin sellin' right off."
With some forty pounds of fish Said followed his black master to their brand-new eating house under the palms. Shed, table and bench, kitchen, cook-stove and dinner bell, everything was complete, and erected before Zack could bat an eye. Already it was surrounded by Dinkas squatting on the ground, and Shilluks—after the peculiar fashion of their tribe—standing stork-like on one foot, languidly interested in whatever might happen. Zack smiled at his own foresight—"Dis sho' is a fine stan' fer a eatin' house; plenty niggers hangin' 'roun' po' ez Job's turkey." Then he nodded his satisfaction; possession of the magic nickel would transform each savage into a customer. Their eyes followed him as he passed amongst them; they watched him intently as he bent over the cook-stove and began to kindle a fire. Some of the Shilluks sidled nearer to the stove, some edged toward Said, who set about cleaning the fish, and Zack played to his gallery. The Effendi of the Eating House took a white cap and a long white apron from a nail, stepped outside where the multitude could admire, and arrayed himself. After donning his robe of honor,
