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“Doesn’t make no difference where I’ve been,” he said rather savagely, in response to the inquiries of the slip-shod, bulky landlady. “I’s been on bis’ness—dat’s whar I’ve been—on very ’portant bis’ness. Yas, ma’am.”

The tubby landlady lowered her head, as does a cow when about to charge, that her spectacles might slip down far enough on her pug nose to allow her to look over them. Then she stared at Jim a moment in mute amazement.

“A black man off on bis’ness—never heard of such a thing,” and she, lifting her skirts rather gingerly, retreated from the apartment, leaving Jim alone with the two Inwoods at the tea-table. The two latter knew that the African had some news to tell and they forebore to question him, choosing to wait until he was ready to unbosom, which was just what he didn’t want them to do. He waited and waited for them to inquire of him, until he could wait no longer.

“Gorry’ation! why don’t you ax me?” he finally demanded in high dudgeon.

“Ask you what?” mildly inquired George, who saw that the secret was coming.