“Why, you lazy, cunning young rascal!” I cried; “if you don’t pick that head up directly, and bring it along!”
“Ugh!” ejaculated Pomp, with a shudder; “um so dreffel ugly, Pomp frighten to deff.”
I could not help laughing heartily at his faces, and the excuses he kept inventing, and he went on—
“Pomp wouldn’t mind a bit if de head dry, but um so dreffel wet an’ nasty. An’ you come close here, Mass’ George, an’ ’mell um. Ugh!”
He pinched his nose between his fingers, and turned his back on the monster.
“Now, no nonsense, sir,” I said, severely. “I will have that carried home.”
“For de massa see um, an’ Mass’ Morgan?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Oh!” exclaimed the boy, in a tone which suggested that he at last understood me; “for de massa and Mass’ Morgan see um. I run home fess um here.”
He was off like a shot, but my voice checked him.