At one end of the bar an electric fan was buzzing. The gaze of the mountaineer froze on this novel object. So absorbed and interested was he that he almost forgot to help himself from the bottle which the barkeeper set out for him. He put down his emptied glass and, walking close up to the fan, continued to watch it in a fascinated silence. “Well, old man,” said Wilson, “are you ready to move along?” “Riley,” answered the mountaineer without turning his head, “ef you don’t mind, I’m goin’ to stay here a spell longer. I don’t know how long I may be here, ’cause I aim to wait until this here critter stops spinnin’ this wheel around so I can git a good look at it. I’ve seen some peart squirrels caged up, in my time, but this shore must be the peartest one that ever was ketched.” § 345 The Triumph of the Novice By way of a beginning, it is incumbent to me to explain that the negroes of the Coast country of South Carolina and Georgia have a distinctive _patois_ which differs radically from the speech of members of their own race up country. “Gullah talk,” as it is called, has but one gender—the masculine. Everything—a man, a woman, a bull, a cow—is “he.” With this bit of explanation we may proceed. An Englishman, desirous of killing some big game during his visit to America, accepted the invitation to visit a plantation-owner on one of the sea islands lying below Charleston. In honor of the visitor a deer drive was arranged. The Britisher, chaperoned by an old negro man, was assigned to a “stand” on one of the best “runs.” Beforehand he had been told to shoot only at bucks, as the does enjoyed protection. Presently, to the ears of the nervous Englishman where he crouched with his black companion in a thicket, came the sound of the hounds’ baying. The dogs had found a fresh trail. They were drawing nearer and nearer. Suddenly, fifty yards away across an open glade, a darting patch of tawny brown showed in the undergrowth. The Englishman fired, and a convulsive thumping in the brush told him that he had not missed. The old negro left his covert and ran forward to see what it was that had been shot. “Did I kill him?” called the excited amateur. “Yeah, boss. You kill ’im,” answered the darky, as he bent over the stricken creature. Then, as he straightened, seeing that the fallen animal had no horns, he added: “’E a doe do’.” At this moment the host hurried up, having heard the shot from his place of ambush a short distance away. “Any luck?” he called out as he approached. “Oh, yes,” answered the Britisher exultantly. “I thought I saw a deer and dropped it, but your black fellow yonder has just told me that it is a dodo—a creature which I thought was entirely extinct. Luck, eh, what?” § 346 The Gift of Tongues