“On’y lil bit o’ fun, Mass’ George; got de ’gator’s head on to frighten um. Nebber tink no ’gator dah, or not nebber done it.”
“No, I suppose not,” I cried. “How dare you try to frighten me like that!”
“Say, Mass’ George, you pull dat ear right off.”
“Serve you right too, sir. You insolent rascal. But I’ll tell my father, and you shall be flogged.”
“Oh no, don’t do dat ah, Mass’ George. Kick um again and pull um oder ear. Pomp won’t holler much. Don’t tell de massa.”
“A blackguardly, cowardly trick with that nasty old alligator’s head.”
“But, Mass’ George,” cried Pomp, suddenly jumping up, “you no business beat kick a boy.”
“What, sir!”
“Why, if I no do dat, an de ole ’gator get hold ob de head, he get hold ob you, an where you be now?”
My hand dropped to my side, and I stared in a puzzled way at Pomp, who began to show his white teeth, as it seemed to me that what he said was true, and that if the reptile had not dashed at the boy, and seized the old head thrown at him, he might have seized me and dragged me down.