"Halloo, Evadne, are you taking lessons in farriery? What's the matter, Pompey? Has Caesar got a sand crack?" and Louis sauntered up, the inevitable cigar between his lips.
"I don't 'low my horses ever hez sech things, Mass Louis," said Pompey grandly.
"Ha, ha! what a conceited old beggar you are. But I'll give the devil his due and acknowledge the horses are a credit to you." He held a dollar towards him balanced on his forefinger. "Here, take this and fill your pipe with it."
"Don't want no pay fer doin' my dooty, Mass Louis."
"Pshaw, man! Take a tip, can't you?"
Pompey shook his head. "I don't smoke, Mass Louis."
"Don't smoke!" ejaculated Louis. "You don't here, I know, because the Judge is afraid of fire, but you'll never make me believe that you don't spend your evenings over the fire with your pipe. You darkeys are as fond of one as the other."
"You's mistaken, Mass Louis," said Pompey quietly.
"'Pon my word! And why don't you smoke, Pomp? You don't know what you're missing. It is the greatest comfort on earth."
"'Specs I don't need sech poor comfort, Mass Louis. I takes my comfort wid de Lord."