“Oh, yes, there is. What is it? Do you want to go home?”
She appeared half startled for an instant, then answered more sharply: “Nor, I don't wan' go home. I ain' got no home to go to.”
“Oh, yes, you have. Well, what is the matter? Out with it. Have you lost any money!”
“Nor, I ain' lost no money 's _I_ knows on.”
“You don't, ah! Well, you would if you had been in Wall Street lately. Well, what is the matter? You are going around here as glum as a meat-axe. Something 's up. What is it?”
“Ain' nothin' de matter wid _me_.” She glanced away under her master's half amused, half disdainful glance, then added half surlily: “I wants _rec'nition_.”
“Dat 's what _we_ wants,” declared the old woman, acquiring courage.
“I don't know what 't is edzac'ly, but dat's what we _wants_. You all 's got it and you got to gi' it to _us_.”
“You mean you want to sit at table with us!” exclaimed Mrs. Graeme.
Mammy Lyddy turned toward her. “You know I don't mean nuttin' like dat! I leetle more 'n smacked that yaller gal' what you call you' maid over 'bout talkin' dat way t'other day.”
“I wants _rec'nition_--dat's all I wants.”
“Who told you to say that!” asked Mr. Graeme.
“Who tol' me to say dat?” She was puzzled.
“Yes, some one has. Who was it?---the Reverend Johnson? Did n't he tell you that!”
She hesitated; but Mr. Graeme's eye was searching.
“Well, he no mo' 'n others--no _much_ mo'. Of co'se, he tol' me dat--he _preaches_ 'bout it; but did n't nobody _have_ to tell me--I knows 'bout it myself.”
“Of course you did, and you must have it. So shall the Reverend Mr. Johnson,” said Mr. Graeme. His tone expressed such sudden amiability that the old woman glanced at him suspiciously, but he was smiling softly and thoughtfully to himself.
“What did you do with the four hundred and fifty-five dollars you drew out of bank last week? Did you invest it or lend it to Mr. Johnson?” It was a bow drawn at venture, but the arrow hit the mark, as Mr. Graeme saw.
“You mean Mr. Johnson invested it for you? By the way, what is his first name!”
“Yes, sir. His name 's de Rev. Amos Johnson.”
“By George! I thought so,” said Graeme, half aloud. “I saw him at the races last week. I knew I had seen him before.” His countenance grew suddenly cheerful.