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Blood turned to face him, and over that swarthy countenance
- which, indeed, by now was tanned to the golden brown of a
half-caste Indian - a mask descended.
"Doing?" said he blandly. "Why, the duties of my office."
The Colonel, striding furiously forward, observed two things. The
empty pannikin on the seat beside the prisoner, and the palmetto
leaf protecting his back. "Have you dared to do this?" The veins
on the planter's forehead stood out like cords.
"Of course I have." Mr. Blood's tone was one of faint surprise.
"I said he was to have neither meat nor drink until I ordered it."
"Sure, now, I never heard ye."
"You never heard me? How should you have heard me when you weren't
here?"
"Then how did ye expect me to know what orders ye'd given?" Mr.
Blood's tone was positively aggrieved. "All that I knew was that
one of your slaves was being murthered by the sun and the flies.
And I says to myself, this is one of the Colonel's slaves, and I'm
the Colonel's doctor, and sure it's my duty to be looking after the
Colonel's property.


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