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Updated: June 24, 2025
When Parson Jones awoke, a bell was somewhere tolling for midnight. Somebody was at the door of his cell with a key. The lock grated, the door swung, the turnkey looked in and stepped back, and a ray of moonlight fell upon M. Jules St.-Ange. The prisoner sat upon the empty shackles and ring-bolt in the centre of the floor. "Misty Posson Jone'," said the visitor, softly. "O Jools!"
"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!"
O Jools, if you'll look him out for me, I'll never forget you I'll never forget you, nohow, Jools. No, Jools, I never will believe he taken that money. Yes, I know all niggahs will steal" he set foot upon the gang-plank "but Colossus wouldn't steal from me. Good- bye." "Misty Posson Jone'," said St.-Ange, putting his hand on the parson's arm with genuine affection, "hol' on.
"Now," said he, still tarrying, "this is jest the way; had I of gone to church " "Posson Jone'," said Jules. "What?" "I tell you. We goin' to church!" "Will you?" asked Jones, joyously. "Allons, come along," said Jules, taking his elbow. They walked down the Rue Chartres, passed several corners, and by and by turned into a cross street.
"Good-by, dear Jools," continued the parson. "I'm in the Lord's haynds, and he's very merciful, which I hope and trust you'll find it out. Good-by!" the schooner swang slowly off before the breeze "good-by!" St.-Ange roused himself. "Posson Jone'! make me hany'ow dis promise: you never, never, never will come back to New Orleans." "Ah, Jools, the Lord willin', I'll never leave home again!"
"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? "Jools, Jools, your eyes is darkened oh! Jools, where's my pore old niggah?" "Posson Jone', never min'; he is wid Baptiste." "Where?" "I don' know w'ere mais he is wid Baptiste. Baptiste is a beautiful to take care of somebody."
"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.
"I was to of left for home to-morrow, sun-up, on the Isabella schooner. Pore Smyrny!" He deeply sighed. "Posson Jone'," said Jules, leaning against the wall and smiling, "I swear you is the moz funny man I ever see. If I was you I would say, me, 'Ah!
Ma egli anno posto in Gesù ferma spene; E tanto pare a lor, quanto a lui pare: Afferman cio ch' e' fu, che facci bene, E che non possi in nessun modo errare: Se padre o madre è ne l'eterne pene, Di questo non si posson conturbare: Che quel che piace a Dio, sol piace a loro Questo s'osserva ne l'eterno core.
"Is he as good as you, Jools?" asked Parson Jones, sincerely. Jules was slightly staggered. "You know, Posson Jone', you know, a nigger cannot be good as a w'ite man mais Baptiste is a good nigger." The parson moaned and dropped his chin into his hands. "I was to of left for home to-morrow, sun-up, on the Isabella schooner. Pore Smyrny!" He deeply sighed.
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