What I get for breakfast,
Capitan, ah?--piece bad bread. What I get for dinner, ah?--bull-neck.
Yes, what I get for supper, too?--piece bread and bucket o' water.
May-be he bad, may be he good, just so he come. You think I live on
dat, Capitan?" said he, in reply to the Captain's questions.
The Captain felt incensed at such treatment, and excused himself for
not calling before; yet he could not suppress a smile that stole
upon his countenance in consequence of Manuel's quaint earnestness.
"That is certainly strange fare for a human being; but the supper
seems rather a comical one. Did you drink the bucket of water,
Manuel?" inquired the Captain, retaining a sober face.
"Capitan, you know me too well for dat. I not ask 'em nozin' what he
no get, but I want my coffee for suppe'. I no eat him like zat,"
throwing the putrid meat upon the floor again.
"Hi, hi! That won't do in this jail. You're dirtying up all my
floor," said the jailer, calling a negro boy and ordering him to
carry the bull-necks, as Manuel called them, into the kitchen.
"You call him dirt, ah, Miser Jailer? Capitan, just come my room; I
shown him," said Manuel, leading the way up-stairs, and the Captain
followed. A sight at the cell was enough, while the sickly stench
forbid him to enter beyond the threshold. He promised Manuel that he
would provide for him in future, and turning about suddenly,
retreated into the lower lobby.
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