"An' Ah
reckon I'se gwine foun' de differculty wid my magernetto at de same
time! Huh?"
Again he shook Tom, with an ease and yet a force that further drove the
breath from the young engineer's body.
"Why doan' yo' talk!" glared the negro, holding Tom out at arm's length
with one hand.
Tom could only groan. Yet that method of communication carried its own
explanation to the big black.
"Reckon yo' gwine talk w'en yo' get gale enough in yo' lungs," grinned the
negro. "In dat case Ah gwine lay yo' down on de groun' to fin' yo' breff."
Sambo's idea of laying Tom down was to give him a violent twist that
brought the lad flat on the ground at his captor's feet. Then the negro
sat on his captive to make sure that the latter did not escape.
"Take yo' time---ah got plenty," grimaced the black man.
Slowly the beaten-out breath came back to Tom Reade. Sambo, watching, knew
finally that his quarry was at last able to talk.
"Wha' yo' do to mah magernetto?" demanded Sambo.
"Guess," breathed Tom.
"Oh, take yo' time, boss. Ah got plenty ob dat accommerdation"
"What magneto are you talking about?" Reade queried innocently.
"Nebber heard ob it befo', eh, boss?"
"I've heard of plenty of magnetos, of course," admitted Tom.
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