"Jools," said the West-Floridian, laying his great hand tenderly upon the Creole's shoulder, as they stepped out upon the banquette, "do you think you have any shore hopes of heaven?"
"Yass!" replied St.-Ange; "I am sure-sure. I thing everybody will go to heaven. I thing you will go, et I thing Miguel will go, et Joe—everybody, I thing—mais, hof course, not if they not have been christen'. Even I thing some niggers will go."
"Jools," said the parson, stopping in his walk—"Jools, I don't want to lose my niggah."
"Yon will not loose him. With Baptiste he cannot ged loose."
But Colossus's master was not re-assured.
"Now," said he, still tarrying, "this is jest the way; had I of gone to church"—
"Posson Jone'," said Jules.
"What?"
"I tell you. We goin' to church!"
"Will you?" asked Jones, joyously.