"Reckon I does. Bless grashus! Ain't I a wukin' fer dat same man de
bigger heft er de time?"

"What kind of a man is he?"

"Fust rate; fust rate. Dat is if he don't hab nuttin' begainst yo'.
When he do, den--look out."

This rather supported the tenor of Mrs. Dopples' cautions, and Ralph
paused a moment before he asked:

"Where can I find him?"

"Yo' membah dat big liv'ry stable on de Main Street as we come erlong?"

"Where there were so many wagons and carriages around?"

"Yaas, suh. Dat's him. De cap'n he own um all. Disher team 'longs
ter de cap'n too. Dey some says--Hi yo! If he ain' a comin' right
now! Oh, cap'n! Say yo' wanter see him, suh?"

Ralph would have declined such a sudden meeting, but before he could
think of any excuse, a portly, fine looking man, with flowing chin
beard and dark, piercing eyes, stopped as he was sauntering by.

"What is it, Sam?" he demanded, at the same time scanning Ralph
casually.

"Dish yer white boy, he astin' where 'bout he kin find yo', suh. I up
an' tol' him, when--bless de land!--yere yo' is."