M'Closky. A julep, gal, that's my breakfast, and a bit of cheese,
George. [Aside to Mrs. Peyton.] How can you ask that vulgar ruffian to your table?
Mrs. P. Hospitality in Europe is a courtesy; here, it is an obligation. We tender food to a stranger, not because he is a gentleman, but because he is hungry.
George. Aunt, I will take my rifle down to the Atchafalaya. Paul has promised me a bear and a deer or two. I see my little Nimrod yonder, with his Indian companion. Excuse me ladies. Ho! Paul! [Enters house.]
Paul. [Outside.] I'ss, Mas'r George.
Enter Paul, R. U. E., with Indian, who goes up.
Sunny. It's a shame to allow that young cub to run over the Swamps and woods, hunting and fishing his life away instead of hoeing cane.
Mrs. P. The child was a favorite of the judge, who encouraged his gambols. I couldn't bear to see him put to work.
George. [Returning with rifle.] Come, Paul, are you ready?
Paul. I'ss, Mas'r George. O, golly! ain't that a pooty gun.