“But it is impossible.”
“Yes, Mass’ George, um possible; come and get up dat big tree.”
The proposition seemed so much in unison with my feelings that I followed my companion at once, and he paused under a great oak a little farther from the river, and beyond the bluff.
“Dah, Mass’ George, make base up an’ let me come. I dreffle frighten.”
“Then go first.”
“No, Mass’ George, you go firs’, you de mas’r.”
“Then I order you to go first, Pomp,” I said.
“Den we bofe clime up togedder, Mass’ George. You go one way, and Pomp go oder way.”
There seemed to be no time for discussion on questions of precedent, so we began to climb together, reaching a great branch about twenty feet from the ground, no easy task for me, encumbered as I was by the gun.
“Ha ha!” cried Pomp, who seemed to have recovered his courage as soon as he was up in the tree; “no ’gator catch um up here, Mass’ George. Nebber see ’gator, no, not eben lil ’gator, climb up tree.”