Only five minutes of his time--five minutes, remember--" and he passed out of hearing.
Todd, now duly installed as co-conspirator, opened the ball the next morning at breakfast.

St.George had slept late, and the hands of the marble clock marked but a few minutes of the hour of Gadgem's expected arrival, and not a moment could be lost.
"Dat Gadgem man done come yere yisterday," he began, drawing out his master's chair with an extra flourish to hide his nervousness, "an' he say he's commin' ag'in dis mornin' at ten o'clock.

Clar to goodness it's dat now! I done forgot to tell ye." "What does he want, Todd ?" asked St.George, dropping into his seat.
"I dunno, sah--said he was lookin' fo' sumpin' fo' a frien' ob his--I think it was a gun--an' he wanted to know what kind to buy fur him--Yes, sah, dem waffles 's jes' off de fire.

He 'lowed he didn't know nuffin' 'bout guns--butter, sah ?--an' den Mister Pawson spoke up an' said he'd better ask you.

He's tame dis time--leastways he 'peared so." "A fine gun is rather a difficult thing to get in these days, Todd," replied St.George, opening his napkin.