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"You see, Jools, every man has his conscience to guide him, which it does so in" "Oh, yes!" cried St.-Ange, "conscien'; thad is the bez, Posson Jone'. Certainlee!
A man muz nod go again' his conscien'. My faith! do you thing I would go again' my conscien'? Mais allons, led us go and ged some coffee." "Jools." "Wat?" "Jools, it ain't the drinkin' of coffee, but the buyin' of it on a Sabbath. You must really excuse me, Jools it's again' conscience, you know." "Ah!" said St.-Ange, "c'est very true. For you it would be a sin, mais for me it is only 'abit.
"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.
M. St.-Ange's replies were in falsetto and not without effect; for presently the parson's indignation and anger began to melt. "Don't ask me, Jools, I can't help you. It's no use; it's a matter of conscience with me, Jools." "Mais oui! 'tis a matt' of conscien' wid me, the same." "But, Jools, the money's none o' mine, nohow; it belongs to Smyrny, you know."
M. St.-Ange's replies were in falsetto and not without effect; for presently the parson's indignation and anger began to melt. "Don't ask me, Jools, I can't help you. It's no use; it's a matter of conscience with me, Jools." "Mais oui! 'tis a matt' of conscien' wid me, the same." "But, Jools, the money's none o' mine, nohow; it belongs to Smyrny, you know."
"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?"
A man muz nod go again' his conscien'. My faith! do you thing I would go again' my conscien'? Mais allons, led us go and ged some coffee." "Jools." "W'at?" "Jools, it ain't the drinkin' of coffee, but the buyin' of it on a Sabbath. You must really excuse me, Jools, it's again' conscience, you know." "Ah!" said St.-Ange, "c'est very true. For you it would be a sin, mais for me it is only 'abit.
"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!"
"You see, Jools, every man has his conscience to guide him, which it does so in " "Oh, yes!" cried St.-Ange, "conscien'; thad is the bez, Posson Jone'. Certainlee!
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