"
"How? what do you mean."
"Why, massa, I mean de bug--dare now."
"The what?"
"De bug--I'm berry sartin dat Massa Will bin bit somewhere 'bout de
head by dat goole-bug."
"And what cause have you, Jupiter, for such a supposition?"
"Claws enuff, massa, and mouff, too. I nebber did see sich a
deuced bug--he kick and he bite eberyting what cum near him. Massa
Will cotch him fuss, but had for to let him go 'gin mighty quick, I
tell you--den was de time he must ha' got de bite. I didn't like
de look ob de bug mouff, myself, nohow, so I wouldn't take hold oh
him wid my finger, but I cotch him wid a piece oh paper dat I
found. I rap him up in de paper and stuff a piece of it in he
mouff--dat was de way."
"And you think, then, that your master was really bitten by the
beetle, and that the bite made him sick?"
"I don't think noffin about it--I nose it. What make him dream
'bout de goole so much, if 'taint cause he bit by the goole-bug?
Ise heered 'bout dem goole-bugs 'fore dis."
"But how do you know he dreams about gold?"
"How I know? why, 'cause he talk about it in he sleep--dat's how I
nose.
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