"And you wa'n't dead, Uncle Bob?" said Hannibal with a deep
breath, viewing Yancy unmistakably in the flesh.
"Never once. I been floating peacefully along with these here
titled friends of mine; but I was some anxious about you, son."
"And Mr. Slosson, Uncle Bob--did you smack him like you smacked
Dave Blount that day when he tried to steal me?" asked Hannibal,
whose childish sense of justice demanded reparation for the
wrongs they had suffered.
Mr. Yancy extended a big right hand, the knuckle of which was
skinned and bruised.
"He were the meanest man I ever felt obliged fo' to hit with my
fist, Nevvy; it appeared like he had teeth all over his face."
"Sho--where's his hide, Uncle Bob?" cried the little Cavendishes
in an excited chorus. "Sho--did you forget that?" They
themselves had forgotten the unique enterprise to which Mr. Yancy
was committed, but the allusion to Slosson had revived their
memory of it.
"Well, he begged so piteous to be allowed fo' to keep his hide, I
hadn't the heart to strip it off," explained Mr. Yancy
pleasantly. "And the winter's comin' onat this moment I can feel
a chill in the air--don't you-all reckon he's goin' to need it
fo' to keep the cold out,' Sho', you mustn't be bloody-minded!"
"What was it about Mr. Slosson's hide, Uncle Bob?" demanded
Hannibal. "What was you a-goin' to do to that?"
"Why, Nevvy, after he beat me up and throwed me in the river, I
was some peevish fo' a spell in my feelings fo' him," said Yancy,
in a tone of gentle regret.
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