“It certainly was very considerate and very kind of you, Cockle, especially when we know how much you must have acted at variance with your inclinations.”
“Yes, Bob, yes, I am the milk punch of human kindness. I often cry—when the chimney smokes; and sometimes—when I laugh too much. You see, I not only give my money, as others will do, but, as last night, I even give my head to assist a fellow-creature. I could, however, dispense with it for an hour or two this morning.”
“Nay, don’t say that; for although you might dispense with the upper part, you could not well get on without your mouth, Cockle.”
“Very true, Bob; a chap without a mouth would be like a ship without a companion hatch;—talking about that, the combings of my mouth are rather dry—what do you say, Bob, shall we call Moonshine?”
“Why it’s rather broad daylight for Moonshine.”
“He’s but an eclipse—a total eclipse, I may say. The fact is, my head is so heavy, that it rolls about on my shoulders; and I must have a stiffener down my throat to prop it it up. So Moonshine, shine out, you black-faced rascal!”
The negro was outside, cleaning his knives:— he answered, but continued at his work.
“How me shine, Massa Cockle, when you neber gib me shiner?”
“No: but I’ll give you a shinner on your lower limb, that shall make you feel planet-struck, if you don’t show your ugly face,” replied Cockle.
“Massa Cockle, you full of dictionary dis marning.”