Page:Harris Dickson--Old Reliable in Africa.djvu/88

 whispered, "Better get your Colonel to tell them quarantine soldiers about you; try to make them believe black is white"

"How come, mister?" Zack didn't relish the uneasy way in which Guinea glanced behind him. A negro couldn't feel anything but skittish when surrounded by gypsy-like men in skirts, and women whose black eyes peered at him through a slit in their face-cloths.

The Irishman began to talk; his Adam's apple went gulping up and down his scraggy neck. Zack got excited as he watched the performance, for Guinea might swallow it, or spit it out. In all the years since Guinea first won his fame for single-handed lying, he had never cornered such a ravenous listener. He pumped that negro's hide plum full. Old Reliable leaned forward breathlessly. Guinea gulped, and went on with his tale—"Ten thousand folks dyin' every day—cholera—three-fingered cholera, coffins piled up in the street, same as cross-ties longside the rail-road track. An' my pardner—Sh! my pardner turned black in the face whilst I was looking at 'im, and dropped dead."

"Dar now!" Zack exclaimed. "What did you do?"

Guinea winked, "Ole nigger, did you ever see a Irishman run? This ship was pullin' out—I