Chapter Thirty Eight.
I lay down to sleep that night quite satisfied of my ability to wake up in good time; but it was still dark when Pomp was shaking my arm.
“Make hase, Mass’ George,” he cried, with his lips to my ear, “um gettin’ so dreffle late.”
“Eh? Now, no tricks,” I said, in that irritable state of sleepiness when one wants just an hour longer. “Why, I have only just lain down.”
“Why, you’ve been seep all de night. You call me laze lil nigger if I say dat. Get up!”
“But is it nearly morning, Pomp?” I said, with my eyes closely shut.
“Ah, you do dat ’gain! You roll ober de oder side for? You tink um dis week when it morrow morning.”
“But it isn’t really morning.”