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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"Gordon Craig Soldier of Fortune"

"Has
Mrs. Henley breakfasted yet?"
"Who, sah?"
"The lady you have on board."
He scratched the wool on his head vigorously, glancing behind the mast
as though uncertain what he had best answer.
"Ah suah nebber know'd dat wus her name, sah; no sah, Ah nebber done
suspected it. Yes, sah, she had her breakfast, but, Ah reckon she did
n't eat much."
"You served her here at the table?"
The negro, apparently anxious to escape from the topic, shook his head.
"No, sah; in her room, sah," his voice low. "De Captain, he unlock de
doah, an' then lock it agin. He say she done gone crazy, but Lor' she
don't look dat-a-way to me. You like sugah in your coffee, sah?"
In spite of the seeming geniality of the steward, and his eagerness now
to question me, I realized that he was thoroughly dominated by personal
fear of the man aft. The less I questioned him the better, probably,
as there was a strong possibility that he would be interviewed later
relative to our conversation. Henley was only testing me, and would
use the darky, if he could, to learn more of my plans. So, although, a
number of questions trembled on my lips, I left them unasked, and
finished my meal in silence. Louis hovered around, dropping a sly hint
now and then, which only served to increase my suspicion that he might
have received instructions to draw me out.


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