t was bread without
yeast, meat without salt, as far as their own powers of speech were
concerned.

"I thought, the other day," he began again, with an effort, "when it
blew up cool, that the warm weather was over."

"It seem to be finishin' ad the end, I think," responded the Creole. "I
think, like you, that we 'ave 'ad too waum weatheh. Me, I like that
weatheh to be cole, me. I halways weigh the mose in cole weatheh. I gain
flesh, in fact. But so soon 'tis summeh somethin' become of it. I dunno
if 'tis the fault of my close, but I reduct in summeh. Speakin' of
close, Mistoo Itchlin,--egscuse me if 'tis a fair question,--w'at was
yo' objec' in buyin' that tawpaulin hat an' jacket lass week ad that
sto' on the levee? You din know I saw you, but I juz 'appen to see you,
in fact." (The color rose in Richling's face, and Narcisse pressed on
without allowing an answer.) "Well, thass none o' my biziness, of
co'se, but I think you lookin' ve'y bad, Mistoo Itchlin"-- He stopped
very short and stepped with dignified alacrity to his desk, for Dr.
Sevier's step was on the stair.

The Doctor shook hands with Richling and sank into the chair at his
desk. "Anything turned up yet, Richling?"

"Doctor," began Richling, drawing his chair near and speaking low.

"Good-mawnin', Doctah," said Narcisse, showing himself with a graceful
flourish.

The Doctor nodded, then turned again to Richling. "You were saying"--

"I 'ope you well, seh," insisted the Creole, and as the Doctor glanced
toward him impatiently, repeated the sentiment, "'Ope you well, seh."

The Doctor said he was, and turned once more to Richling. Narcisse
bowed away backward and went to his desk, filled to the eyes with fierce
satisfaction. He had made himself felt. Richling drew his chair nearer
and spoke low:--

"If I don't get work within a day or two I shall have to come to you for
money."

"That's all right, Richling." The Doctor spoke aloud; Richling answered
low.

"Oh, no, Doctor, it's all wrong! Indeed, I can't do it any more unless
you will let me earn the money."

"My dear sir, I would most gladly do it; but I have nothing that you
can do."

"Yes, you have, Doctor."

"What is it?"

"Why, it's this: you have a slave boy driving your carriage."

"Well?"

"Give him some other work, and let me do that."

Dr. Sevier started in his seat. "Richling, I can't do that. I should
ruin you. If you drive my carriage"--

"Just for a time, Doctor, till I