“But will you play me such a trick again?”
“Dunno, Mass’ George. You pull hard bofe ears togedder, and kick um.”
“Where are your clothes?” I said, quite disarmed now.
“In de tree, Mass’ George. Hab noder pull.”
“No,” I said. “Put on your clothes.”
Pomp threw himself on the ground and began to howl.
“What’s that for, sir?”
“You go tell de capen, and hab poor nigger flog. Ah, Mass’ George, you bery cruel young massa.”
“Get up, Pomp. I’m not going to tell father, but you shouldn’t have played me such a trick.”
The boy seemed as if made of india-rubber, for he sprang up, ducked down, stood on his head, and then went over and over head over heels three or four times before leaping up with a loud shout.