“’Tick ’tuff, great big dirty bit blank in Pomp mouf,” he said, angrily. “No couldn’t breve.”
He gave himself another rub or two, worked his head about, rubbed behind his back, and opened and shut his jaws softly. Then giving himself a final shake, he exclaimed—
“Pomp quite well ’gain.”
“Want something to eat?” I said, smiling.
“Yes, Mass’ George. Pomp dreffle hungly now.”
“Oh well, we’ll soon settle that,” I said; and I looked round for the food, much of which was then lying under the big cypress, close to the heap of ashes I had once called home.
“I’m afraid there is nothing left, Pomp,” I said, apologetically.
“Eh?”
“I’m afraid there is nothing to give you,” I said.
“What? No go eat all dat and hab not bit for poor Pomp! Oh!”