We've got to do a little manoeuvrin'.
Don't you fret, J'rome, an' don't you go to frettin' of your mother.
I'll take an extra lot of shoes from Cy Robinson; he can think Belinda's goin' to bind--she never has--or he can think what he wants to; I ain't goin' to regulate his thinkin'; an' you come to me for shoes in future.

Only you keep dark about it.

Don't you let on to nobody, except your mother, an' she needn't know the whys an' wherefores.

I've let out shoes before now.

I'll pay a leetle more than Robinson.