He stopped dancing, and grinned at them.
"Say, you are Gideon, ain't you?" his discoverer demanded, with a sort
of reverent audacity.
"Yaas, _seh_," said Gideon; "that's me. Yo' shu got it right." He
broke into a joyous peal of laughter--the laughter that had made him
famous, and bowed deeply before him. "Gideon--posi-_tive_-ly his las'
puffawmunce." Turning, he dashed for a passing trolley, and, still
laughing, swung aboard.
He was naturally honest. In a land of easy morality his friends had
accounted him something of a paragon; nor had Stuhk ever had anything
but praise for him. But now he crushed aside the ethics of his intent
without a single troubled thought. Running away has always been
inherent in the negro. He gave one regretful thought to the gorgeous
wardrobe he was leaving behind him; but he dared not return for it.
Stuhk might have taken it into his head to go back to their rooms. He
must content himself with the reflection that he was at that moment
wearing his best.
The trolley seemed too slow for him, and, as always happened nowadays,
he was recognized; he heard his name whispered, and was aware of the
admiring glances of the curious.
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