The Reverend rebukingly and rather pointedly
advised me to make the most of it, then. We knew of a boarding-house,
and what we needed now was somebody to pilot us to it. Presently a
little barefooted colored boy came along, whose raggedness was
conspicuously not Bermudian. His rear was so marvelously bepatched with
colored squares and triangles that one was half persuaded he had got it
out of an atlas. When the sun struck him right, he was as good to follow
as a lightning-bug. We hired him and dropped into his wake. He piloted
us through one picturesque street after another, and in due course
deposited us where we belonged. He charged nothing for his map, and but
a trifle for his services: so the Reverend doubled it. The little chap
received the money with a beaming applause in his eye which plainly said,
"This man's an onion!"
We had brought no letters of introduction; our names had been misspelled
in the passenger-list; nobody knew whether we were honest folk or
otherwise.
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