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M. St.-Ange stood up aghast, and for a moment speechless, at this exhibition of moral heroism; but an artifice was presently hit upon. "Mais, Posson Jone'!" in his old falsetto "de order you cannot read it, it is in French compel you to go hout, sir!" "Is that so?" cried the parson, bounding up with radiant face "is that so, Jools?"
"Goin' to de dev'," said the sweetly-smiling yonng man. The schooner-captain, leaning against the shrouds, and even Baptiste, laughed outright. "O Jools, you mustn't!" "Well, den, w'at I shall do wid it?" "Any thing!" answered the parson; "better donate it away to some poor man" "Ah! Misty Posson Jone', dat is w'at I want. You los' five hondred dollar' 'twas me fault." "No, it wa'n't, Jools."
"Las' evening when they lock' you, I come right off at M. De Blanc's house to get you let out of de calaboose; M. De Blanc he is the judge. So soon I was entering 'Ah! Jules, me boy, juz the man to make complete the game! Posson Jone', it was a specious providence! I win in t'ree hours more dan six hundred dollah! Look." He produced a mass of bank-notes, bons, and due-bills.
Rilligion is a very strange; I know a man one time, he thing it was wrong to go to cock-fight Sunday evening. I thing it is all 'abit. Mais, come, Posson Jone'; I have got one friend, Miguel; led us go at his house and ged some coffee. Come; Miguel have no familie; only him and Joe always like to see friend; allons, led us come yonder."
"Mais, Posson Jone'!" in his old falsetto "de order you cannot read it, it is in French compel you to go hout, sir!" "Is that so?" cried the parson, bounding up with radiant face "is that so, Jools?" The young man nodded, smiling; but, though he smiled, the fountain of his tenderness was opened.
Misty Posson Jone'," he continued, "you make a so droll sermon ad the bull-ring. Ha! ha! I swear I think you can make money to preach thad sermon many time ad the theatre St. Philippe. Hah! you is the moz brave dat I never see, mais ad the same time the moz rilligious man. Where I'm goin' to fin' one priest to make like dat? Mais, why you can't cheer up an' be 'appy?
"All right!" cried the Creole; "I thing he's willin'. Adieu, Posson Jone'. My faith'! you are the so fighting an' moz rilligious man as I never saw! Adieu! Adieu!" Baptiste uttered a cry and presently ran by his master toward the schooner, his hands full of clods.
"Mais, w'at de matter, Posson Jone'?" "My sins, Jools, my sins!" "Ah! Posson Jone', is that something to cry, because a man get sometime a litt' bit intoxicate? Mais, if a man keep all the time intoxicate, I think that is again' the conscien'." "Jools, Jools, your eyes is darkened oh I Jools, Where's my pore old niggah?" "Posson Jone', never min'; he is wid Baptiste." "Where?"
"If I could make jus' one bet," said the persuasive St.-Ange, "I would leave this place, fas'-fas', yes. If I had thing mais I did not soupspicion this from you, Posson Jone'" "Don't, Jools, don't!" "No! Posson Jone'." "You're bound to win?" said the parson, wavering. "Mais certainement! But it is not to win that I want;'tis me conscien' me honor!" "Well, Jools, I hope I'm not a-doin' no wrong.
"Why, that money belongs to Smyrny Church," said the giant. "You are very dengerous to make your money expose like that, Misty Posson Jone'," said St.-Ange, counting it with his eyes. The countryman gave a start and smile of surprise.
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