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Updated: June 9, 2025
"Den I know; it was um big forn." "It wasn't, Pomp. Come and sit down and have some lunch." "No. Won't come. Don't want no lunchum. Hurt poor Pomp dreffle. You alway play um trick." "I tell you I didn't do anything, Pomp. There, come along." He caught sight of the food I brought now from the wallet, and it was irresistible. "You no 'tick pin in nigger 'gain?" "No." "Nor yet um forn?" "No.
The absence of this darn struck to Mrs. Kittridge's heart at once as a delicate attention. "Mis' Simpkins," said Mrs. Kittridge to her pastor, as they were seated at the tea-table, "told me that she wished when you were going home that you would call in to see Mary Jane; she couldn't come out to the funeral on account of a dreffle sore throat.
He knew nothing of the pistol which the Gardeen Angel kept under his wing for him, but Whisky Jim had threatened that he shouldn't enjoy his claim long. Jim had remarked to several people, in his lofty way, that Minnesoty wuz a healthy place fer folks weth consumption, but a dreffle sickly one fer folks what jumped other folks's claims when they wuz down of typus.
"I was always told s'ciety in Noo York was dreffle refined an' high-toned," said Tuck. "We're lookin' to go there one o' these days, Nip an' me." "Oh, you won't see no Belt business where you'll go, miss. De man dat wants you'll want bad, an' he'll summer you on Long Island er at Newport, wid a winky-pinky silver harness an' an English coachman. You'll make a star-hitch, you an' yer brother, miss.
Hannibal spoke again as he continued rowing, and as I listened to the curious sweet-sounding barbarous tongue, I felt as if I would have given anything to have been able to understand what was said. But though I did not comprehend the words, I did their sense, for Pomp came crawling up closer to me like a beaten dog, and held up one hand deprecatingly. "Pomp dreffle sorry," he said.
One of my first acts, as soon as I began to grow dry and warm, was to take my knife from my pocket and cut a notch in the tree just on a level with the water. Pomp looked at me and then shook his head. "No," he said; "no, Mass' George, no get sug gum dah, an' Pomp dreffle hungry."
'T was a fishin' dog ye know an' ye was allers dreffle good to fishermen, dreffle good to everybody; died for 'em, did n't ye? "Please wait on the bank there, a minnit; I 'm comin' 'crost. Water 's pretty cold this spring an' the stream 's risin' but I can do it; don't ye mind 'bout me, sir. I 'll get acrost."
The negro aided him respectfully; that wet wad of dollars had done its work profoundly. "Yo' is de adjetant ob dis here Gin'ral ob de Lancers, suh? De po' ole Gin'ral! He done git shot dreffle bad, suh. . . . Jess you lay on de flo', suh, t'will I gits yo' boots off'n yo' laigs! Dar! Now jess set down in de tub, suh. I gwine scrub you wif de saddle-soap Lor', Gord-a-mighty!
Paul was a great man, a dreffle smart scholar, but he was raised in the city, I guess, an' when I go from the gospils into Paul's writin's it 's like goin' from the woods an' hills an' streams o' Francony into the streets of a big city like Concord or Manch'ster." The old man did not say much of his after life and the fruits of this strange conversion, but his neighbors told us a great deal.
On the last occasion he said "Walletum dreffle heabby, Mass' George. Don't think better carry um inside?" "What do you mean?" "Mass' George eat half, and Pomp eat half. Den we hab nuffum to carry." I naturally enough burst out laughing. "Why, we've only just had a good breakfast, and couldn't eat any more." "Oh yes, Pomp could, big lots."
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