"Yaas," said he, in response to my inquiry whether he had heard if my
friend was ill--"yaas, he do look dicky. `Governor,' says I, `what's
up?' I says. `Up,' says he, `what do you mean by it?' says he. `Go
on,' says I, `as if you didn't know you was queer!' `I ain't queer,'
says he. `Oh, no, ain't you,' says I; `what do you want to look so
green about the mazard for, then?' says I. `Oh, that's nothing,' says
he; `reading late at night, that's what that is,' says he. `Turn it
up,' says I. `So I will,' says he, `when my Sam's over,' says he.
Bless you, governor, I'd like to give that there Sam a topper, so I
would."
So, then, he was reading for an examination! This paleness, after all,
did not come from fretting on my account, but because he had found an
occupation which drove me from his thoughts evening after evening!