'Well,' said he, 'who
might you be? For there's queer folks in Jamaica, I'm told.' So I said
I was Michael Clones, and at that he doffed his hat and held out a hand.
'Well, here's luck,' said he. 'Luck at the very start! I've heard of
you from my mistress. You're servant to Mr. Dyck Calhoun--ain't that
it?' And I nodded, and he smiled again--a smile that'd cost money
annywhere else than in Jamaica. He smiled again, and give a slow hitch
to his breeches as though they was fallin' down. Why, sir, he's the
longest bit of man you ever saw, with a pointed beard, and a nose that's
as long as a midshipman's tongue-dry, lean, and elastic. He's quick and
slow all at once. His small eyes twinkle like stars beatin' up against
bad weather, and his skin's the colour of Scots grass in the dead of
summer-yaller, he'd call it if he called it anything, and yaller was what
he called the look of the sky above the hills. Queer way of talk he has,
that man, as queer as--"
"I understand, Michael. But what else? How did you come to talk about
the affairs of Mrs. and Miss Llyn? He didn't just spit it out, did he?"
"Sure, not so quick and free as spittin', y'r honour; but when he'd
sorted me out, as it were, he said Miss Llyn had come out here to take
charge of Salem; her own estate in Virginia bein' in such good runnin'
order, and her mind bein' active.
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