of Africky Landin'. I been making plenty money, but money don't buy me nothin'." Zack blundered on in his desperate donkey-back argument. "An' Cunnel wouldn't stay here neither; he's settin' on dat donkey right now studyin' 'bout his reg'lar Christmas bear hunt, when all de gen'lemen has a good time, an' all de niggers has a good time. I don't wish nobody no harm, but I wouldn't cry none ef dat gin house had 'a' burnt up."
The smile vanished from the Colonel's face, for Zack had flicked him on the raw by suggesting the Christmas bear hunt, which he would miss. But the white man felt his responsibility. "Well, Zack," he said, "the gin is here, and so are we. Go along now and fry your fish; it's nearly time for the men to knock off."
Beckoning for Said to follow, old Zack batted his donkey over the head, and trotted towards the Hot Cat Eating House.
"Your negro seems to be in a grubby bad humor," commented Lyttleton.
"Yes," responded the Colonel, "he's a child, and wants to go home."
In silence they reached the catfish shack, and in silence the Dongalawi knelt down to blow his fire. Zack never spoke a word until after he had scorched the first pan of fish; then he tore off his apron, and exploded:
