man; name's John Edwards. That old darkey we had cake-walkin' around with us stuck to us all over the show: he was the nearest to a human being I saw in the whole place. I liked him; he was the only soul we met that had a laugh in him; the rest of 'em looked as if they'd cut your throat for a plugged nickel. Full-blooded nigger he is: not an Arab at all; this John Edwards says he belongs to some nigger tribe of sorcerers or something; but all the sorcering he did for us was to beat his drum and yell 'Toulamond' and pass the hat—he did that often enough! Funny about you being in our hotel all this time and us not knowin' it. I expect it must be because we been eatin' in the restaurant and you in the tabble dutt. John Edwards says that's the way to pronounce it, 'tabble dutt.' That's right, isn't it, 'tabble dutt'?"
"I believe nearly so."
"In our country," Tinker went on, "of course we most always call it 'table doat'; but this John Edwards says it's 'dutt'—or pretty near like that any way; and he ought to know, because he's a full-blooded Frenchman. He speaks English pretty well, too; but I been talkin' to him for about three days now, and listen! that isn't like talkin' to somebody
