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Updated: May 8, 2025
"On de plains ob Proo, massa," replied the negro, with that self-satisfied clearing of the throat which was usually the prelude to a long story. "Come now, Quashy," said Lawrence, with a laugh, "don't be too long-winded, and don't exaggerate." "Don't ex-what-gerate, massa?" "Exaggerate." "What's dat, massa?" "Never mind, Quashy go on."
"You mus' know," remarked Quashy to his friends, who watched him while he fabricated the first of these curtains, "dat my gran'fadder was a injineer, an' some ob his geenus comed down to me. Dat's why I's so clebber wid my hands. Has you got dem hoops tied, massa?" "All right, Quashy, I'm just finishing the last one. There are these the right sizes?" "Das right, massa.
"True, Senhor Pedro, and I am not thankless; yet do I feel free to repeat that it is a most dismal place." "Mos' horriboble," said Quashy, looking up at the vaulted roof.
I not kin 'splain rightly but I say to 'er one day, when I'd got my courage screwed up, `Sooz'n, ses I. `Well, ses she. `I I lub you, ses I, `more nor myself, 'cause I t'ink so well ob you. Eberybody t'inks well ob you, Sooz'n. "`Nuffin', ses she! Now, wasn't dat modest?" "It certainly was, Quashy. Couldn't have been more so," said Pedro.
"No prospect of quitting the hut to-day," observed Lawrence, turning away from the bewildering scene. "None," said Pedro, stretching himself, and rising sleepily on one elbow, as men are wont to do when unwilling to get up. "Nebber mind, massa; lots o' grub!" cried Quashy, awaking at that moment, leaping up like an acrobat, and instantly setting about the kindling of the fire.
"Ho yis, massa, plenty ob rubbers eberywhar," said Quashy, with a nod, "more nor 'nuff ob dem. You see, massa, Chili an' Proo's a-fightin' wid each oder jus' now. What dey's fightin' about no mortial knows; an', what's more, nobody cares. I s'pose one say de oder's wrong an' de oder say de one's say not right.
"Get who?" demanded Lawrence, in surprise, not unmingled with a touch of severity, for this was the first time that his humble follower had dared to touch on the theme that was uppermost in his mind. With a strange compound of what is well named "cheek" and humility, Quashy replied, "Her, you know, de Inca princess Manuela. It's all right!"
"Who were the two that recovered?" "Eh? I dunno." Mark stared. "Well, how should I know what their names are? Hashy and Quashy, or something of the kind. They're out and outers to eat, and don't seem a bit the worse. I called 'em Soup and Taters yesterday after seeing 'em at their feeding." "What are you talking about?" "I was answering your questions about the black fellows."
Some peepil say he's not a rubber at all, but a good sort o' feller as goes mad sometimes. He's bery kind to women an' child'n, but he's bery awrful." "That's a strange character. How do you know he's so very awful, Quashy?" "Because I seed 'im, massa." "Indeed, where?"
Cassia was not large, but she had a good deal of action, and was the Doctor's show-horse. There were two other animals in his stable: Quassia or Quashy, the black horse, and Caustic, the old bay, with whom he jogged round the village. "A long ride to-day?" said Abel, as he brought up the equipage. "Just out of the village, that 's all. There 's a kink in her mane, pull it out, will you?"
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