"Will, eh?" responded Abner Phipps, slightly mystified as to the why and wherefore, that he should, in particular, be "crowded," especially by an Ethiopic gentleman.
"I guess I won't then," resumed Phipps; "if any body ventures to crowd me, just a purpose, I guess I'll be darn'd apt, and mighty quick to squash in their heads, or whoop'm on the spot."
"What dat? got pistils in your pocket, eh?" says one of the two big buck niggers, shying up alongside of the now velocipeding up-country artisan. Phipps looked back, the negroes were following him. "Pistils? who's talkin' about pistils, mister?" he ventured to ask.
"Dat's him, watch'm."
"Why, we see'd you goin' in dar, dat pistol shop; want to lay in a stock of dirks and pistils, eh?" says the negro.
"You—you got any hand-cuffs in you' pocket?" inquired another.
"What dat? got de hand-cuffs in he pocket?"
"Pistils and bowie knibes!" says a third.
"Dat's him! watch'm!"
"Knock'm down, put dat white hat ober his eyes! Hoo-r-r!"