even to his spouse, the old man threw himself into an impressive pose, as he always did when about to adorn his language with phrases caught up from the conversation of his master and his guests,—“I would say de Prodigy Son have arrove, and he as ravenous as de fatted calf.” Hearing Polly bustling about within the kitchen: “Polly,” inquired he, in a stately voice, “did you hearken to what I rubserved?” “I hear you, Dick.” “But did you make me out, chile, dat’s de pint, did you make me out?” “G’long, man, and put dat horse in de stable. Marse Charley want he supper, course he do. What’s de use o’ talkin’ about fat calves, when you know as well as I does d’yar ain’t no sich a thing in de kitchen. Marse Charley want he supper, I know dat, and I’se gittin’ ready to cook it fast as I can.” “I b’lieve you. Well, put my name in de pot, chile.” And the old man went his way. “Well,” said he, soliloquizing upon the much-longed-for return of his young master, “dey tell me chickens, like horses [curses?], always does come home to roost—git up, I tell you!—’cep’n onless dey meets a free nigger in de road, den good-by chickens—for you’re gwine to leave us.” CHAPTER XVIII. “Why, what’s all this, Uncle Dick?” exclaimed Charley, as that venerable servitor entered, with hospitably beaming countenance, bearing a tray. “Roast oysters! why, this cold turkey was enough for a prince.” And he brushed from his yellow moustache the foam of a glass of Bass’s ale. The old man, complimented by Charley’s surprise, placed the smoking oysters upon the table with a bow of the old school. “Why, they are beauties! Ah, I am glad you will join me, Uncle Tom! I never saw finer.” “Dey is fine, Marse Charley, dat’s a fac’. Polly she save ’em for you special. You know, young mahster” (another bow), “de old-time people used to say you must speed de partin’ guest.” “That’s true. By the way, Uncle Dick, what do you say to a little something to warm up your old bones?” “Since you mention it, Marse Charley, I believe de frost has tetched ’em a little.” “Well, get that bottle out of the sideboard,—you know where it is.” “Know whar ’tis? I wish I had as many dollars as I know whar dat bottle sets!” “Or would you prefer ale?” “Thank you, young mahster; whiskey good enough for Dick.” “There, ’tisn’t more than half full; take it out and give Polly her share.” “Sarvant, mahster!” “Take some sugar?” “Much obleeged, young mahster; seems like ’most everything spiles whiskey. Somehownutther nothin’ don’t gee with sperrits ’cep’n ’tis mo’ sperrits.” “But Aunt Polly might like sugar with hers.” “Dat’s a fac’, Marse Charley, dat’s a fac’; but Lor’ me, women don’t know; but den again dey tell me it’s a wise man as knows his own father, so d’yar ’tis.” “Well, Uncle Dick, I can make out without you now, so good-night; and present my compliments to Aunt Polly, and you and she drink my health.”