“I say, Primus,” he said, “do you know where you are?”

“I guess I does,” answered the black, speaking from between his shut teeth, which the necessity of retaining the stump of a pipe he was smoking compelled him to keep tight together, “I is on de river ’joying a row wid two white genlmn.”

“Any fool knows that,” said Tom, “though for the matter of the enjoyment, there might be two words about that.  Some jugs has two handles.”

“Well, if dat doesn’t please you, I all in a shiver wid de cold.  My wood toe is almost freeze.”

“That’s a plaguy curus thing,” said Tom.  “You know Jim Hardy.  Well I hearn him say he can feel the fingers in his hand that was ground off in the mill, just an much as in tother.  I expect your experience is pretty much the same.”

“Dat’s a fact,” said Primus.  “I can feel de foot and de toes just as much as ebber, only de leg is a sort o’ kind o’ shorter.  Now, Missa Gladding, you is a man ob gumption, can you splain dat?”

“Sartin,” said Tom, who didn’t wish to appear ignorant to the presence of the negro; “there’s no great difficulty about that, though I rather think it takes more larning than you’ve got to onderstand the thing.  You see,” he added, recollecting as well as he could some Latin words he had heard used by the doctor, “the narves of the rigdum flagdum in circumnavigating through the humorous rusticus, deflastigated by the horrentibus oribus sort o’ twist the aures arrectos into asinos, and that you see, to a man of larning makes the whole thing as clear as one of elder Sillyway’s sarmons.”

Primus fairly caught his breath at Tom’s display of learning, who rose considerably higher also in Basset’s estimation.  After somewhat recovering from his astonishment, and as if he had been reflecting on the subject, the General said—­

“Larning is a great ting, and perhaps you is right and perhaps you isn’t, but I hear anoder way to ’count for it.”

“Out with it then,” cried Tom.

“White folks,” said Primus, “hab one way to ’count for tings, and colored pussons hab anoder way.  Now I hear a colored pussun, who come all de way from Africa, where dey onderstands dese tings, say it was de jumbee.”

“The jumbee!  What in natur’s that!” inquired Basset, who had not before mingled in the conversation.

“Now, none of your tricks, Prime,” cried Tom, suspecting the negro of an intention to mystify them with a jargon like that he had palmed off; “jumbee ain’t Latin.”

“Nobody say it was,” returned Primus, “I guess de old fellow nebber hab much chance to study Latin.  He better ’quainted wid de shovel and de hoe.  Dat mean in de Congo language, sperit.”

“Colored people are curus folks,” ejaculated Basset

“I don’t see fairly what you’re driving at yet,” said Gladding.  “Suppose jumbee does mean sperit, what then?”

“I mean dat de hand turn into a sperit.  Don’t you see, Missa Basset,” exclaimed Primus, suddenly poking his wooden leg at the constable, “de sperit ob my leg?”