Being of a restless disposition and fond of killing something—we may say anything, from a rhinoceros to a gull—Harry had gone out with his revolver.
Mole and Monday sat down on a divan in the dining-room and slaked their thirst.
“This is O. K., sah,” said Monday. “Now we’s enjoyin’ de benefits ob de higher civilization.”
“And I am putting up for the champagne,” replied Mole. “You’re a mean cuss, Monday.”
“What for?”
“You never pay for anything. I call you a confounded white haired old sponge!”
“What’s de use ob paying when I travel with a capitalist like you?”
“You’ve got money, you black thief! It’s your principal I complain of!”
“If you call me out of my name, Massa Mole, again, dis chile fire um glass at you!”
“I dare you to do it!”