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There was, I think, a little pretence in this, as though Dr Bobbs had been a long-established officer of the Southern Cross cricket club, they had not in truth thought of it, and Bobbs was only appointed the night after MacNuffery's position and duties had been made known.
Dawson Bobbs was Niggertown's conscience. It was best for Peter to take from this atmosphere what was dearest to him, and go at once. The brown man's thoughts came trailing back to the old negro parson hobbling at his side. He looked at the old man, hesitated a moment, then told him what was in his mind. Parson Ranson's face wrinkled into a grin. "You's gwine to git ma'ied?"
Forward the inclosed it is the key of my desk to the office by hand. Please address to Bobbs and Cholberry I mean to Chobbs and Bolberry but my mind is totally unhinged. I left a penknife with a buckhorn handle in your work-box. It will repay the messenger. May it make him happier than ever it did me! 'Oh, Miss Pecksniff, why didn't you leave me alone!
"Jest drop that in the post-office as you go down the street, Bobbs," he directed in his high voice. Peter caught a glimpse of the type-written address. It was Rev. Lemuel Hardiman, c/o United Missions, Katuako Post, Bahr el Ghazal, Sudan, East Africa. The white population of Hooker's Bend was much amused and gratified at the outcome of the Hooker-Siner land deal.
Bobbs was a young man just getting into practice in Gladstonopolis, and understood measles, I fancy, better than the training of athletes. MacNuffery was the most disagreeable man of the English party, and soon began to turn up his nose at Bobbs. But Bobbs, I think, got the better of him.
His mother offered to take a walk with him in the city park; but Bobbs declared that violent exercise would be necessary to keep the eye in its right place, and Jack was at Little Christchurch manipulating his steam-bowler in the afternoon.
Here Jim Pink broke into genuine laughter, which was quite a different thing from his stage grimaces. Peter stared at the fool astonished. "Has he gone to jail?" "Not prezactly." "Well confound it! exactly what did happen, Jim Pink?" "He gone to Mr. Cicero Throgmartins'." "What did he go there for?" "Couldn't he'p hisse'f." "Look here, you tell me what's happened." "Mr. Bobbs ca'ied Tump thaiuh.
The officer bit on a sliver of toothpick that he held in his thin lips. "Accident up Jonesboro las' night, Peter." "What was it, Mr. Bobbs?" "Tump Pack got killed." Peter continued looking fixedly at Mr. Bobbs's broad red face. The dusty road beneath him seemed to give a little dip. He repeated the information emptily, trying to orient himself to this sudden change in his whole mental horizon.
"Come, Jim Pink, what do you know?" he asked. The magician poked out his huge lips. "Mr. Bobbs turn acrost by de church, over de Big Hill. Da' 's always a ba-ad sign." Peter's brief interest in the matter flickered out. Another arrest for some niggerish peccadillo. The history of Niggertown was one long series of petty offenses, petty raids, and petty punishments.
Presently Peter saw the bulky form of Dawson Bobbs come around the curve, moving methodically from cabin to cabin. He held some legal- looking papers in his hands, and Peter knew what the constable was doing. He was serving a blanket search-warrant on the whole black population of Hooker's Bend.
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