"Yas, suh, dat's whut I's er doin' jest ez fast ez I kin."
"Peters," said Starbuck, "I don't like to ask a man his business when he's in my house."
"I reckon business is the right word, Starbuck," and moving closer to Kintchin he demanded: "Somebody got a mortgage on yo' feet so you can't move 'em?"
"Wha'fo'?" replied the negro, ducking his head.
"You keep on a standin' thar when you see I want to talk to Starbuck."
"W'y, bless yo' life, you's so entertainin' I kain't hardly t'ar myse'f loose. Wheneber you talks it puts me in de min' o' er fiddle."
"But it don't make you move yo' feet, you scoundrel."
"No, suh, ef I moved my feet when de fiddle wuz gwine folks would think I wuz er dancin' an' da'd turn me outen de church, an' I doan want 'em ter do dat. Hurts er man's business w'en he's turned outen de church."
Peters addressed himself to Jasper. "Well, you have teached that nigger nearly enough impudence to break his neck."
"Didn't know I was sich a good teacher, Lije. Don't you want a few lessons? Go on, Kintchin." The negro slowly went away, looking back and shaking his head, and Starbuck added: "Peters, I'm afraid I'll have to furgit my raisin' an' ask you what you want."
"I want to give you the opportunity to have some sense."
"Well, now, Lije, it's mighty kind of you to be givin' out that sort of artickle. Puts me in mind of the old feller that give away his shirts when he didn't have none to spare."
"Good natchul talk, Starbuck--natchul as the squawk of a duck. But I didn't come here to swop the perlitenesses of the season."
"No?" said Starbuck.
"You know I have been out of the neighborhood an' ain't had a chance to talk business until lately."
"That's so."
"And you ought to know what that business is."
"Yes, I know."
"Even if a man is gittin' old, Starbuck, thar ain't no reason why he should be a fool."
"That's a fact, Lije."
"And the biggest fool in the world, Starbuck, is the man that won't keep out of trouble when he kin."
"That's true."
"Starbuck, ain't yo' eyes wide enough open to see that I kin ruin you?"
"Yes, Lije, with his eyes half shet a man kin see a rattlesnake."
"Then with both of 'em wide open he ought to see a panther."
"I'm a lookin' at you."
"That's all right, Starbuck. But we've passed the time fur beatin' about the bush."
"I ain't a beatin', Lije."
"Starbuck, do you want to be ruined?"
"Stop!"
"Do you want to see yo' wife with her head bowed down on the table?"
"Stop!"
"Do you want to hear yo' daughter cryin' down thar in the valley?"
"I tell you to stop!"
"Do you want to know that the little grave down yander--"
"Stop, Peters, stop!" the old man cried, and then held forth his hands.
"You don't see nuthin' red on my hands, do you? Look, they are jest as nature made 'em. Peters, fur God's sake don't turn 'em red."
"That's good talk, Starbuck, an' it mout belong to the pulpit but not to business, an' I'm a business man."
"Yes, you look like it."
"And I'll act like it, too; I'll tell you that fur yo' own infermation.
An' thar ain't a man in the country that likes to give out infermation better'n I do--when I see that it's goin' to be of use to somebody. But I don't like to waste my wisdom, Starbuck. Look, here, don't you know the right to ruin you has come down to me from my folks, like er old spinnin' wheel? It's a fact, and you know it. But I don't want to do it if I can help it. I know I would make yo' daughter a good husband, but frum what I kin gether she wouldn't wipe her feet on me."
"Oh, yes, Peters, she mout if she had been walkin' in the mud."
"Yes, ah, hah. So I've got another plan."
"Oh, I don't reckon you're slow, Lije, when it comes to gittin' up plans."
"That's true. An' I'm jest a little slow about askin' favors, but I want to borry a thousand dollars, an' I don't want no time sot when it must be paid back, nuther. I want that understood."
"Why, that's what they call blackmail, ain't it?"
"Oh, I don't care whut they call it, but I want you to git it fur me.
That p'int is settled. You've got to git it, an' git it quick."
"Why, Peters, I'd have to sell my land."
"Better do that than to throw away yo' liberty. You know that it means ruin for you an' yo' wife an' a broken heart fur yo' girl. All I've got to do is to act, an' you go to the penitentiary."
Upon Starbuck's face there was an expression of keen suffering.
Pleadingly he put up his hands, looking toward the door leading into the kitchen and exclaimed. "Hold on. Somebody mout hear you."