"Yes," replied Jones, "he is half yours. Let me have five hundred dollars,
and I will give you a bill of sale of the boy."
"Go back to your bed," said Thompson to his chattel, "and remember that you
now belong to me."
The poor slave wiped the tears from his eyes, as, in obedience,
he turned to leave the table.
"My father gave me that boy," said Jones, as he took the money, "and I hope,
Mr. Thompson, that you will allow me to redeem him."
"Most certainly, sir," replied Thompson. "Whenever you hand
over the cool thousand the negro is yours."
Next morning, as the passengers were assembling in the cabin and on deck,
and while the slaves were running about waiting on or looking for
their masters, poor Joe was seen entering his new master's stateroom,
boots in hand.
"Who do you belong to?" inquired a gentleman of an old negro, who passed
along leading a fine Newfoundland dog which he had been feeding.
"When I went to sleep las' night," replied the slave, "I 'longed
to Massa Carr; but he bin gamblin' all night, an' I don't know
who I 'longs to dis mornin'.
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