"O Jools!" said the parson, "supposin' Colossus ain't gone home! O Jools, if you'll look him out for me, I'll never forget you—I'll never forget you, nohow, Jools. No, Jools, I never will believe he taken that money. Yes, I know all niggahs will steal"—he set foot upon the gang-plank—"but Colossus wouldn't steal from me. Good-by."
"Misty Posson Jone,'" said St.-Ange, putting his hand on the parson's arm with genuine affection, "hol' on. You see dis money—w'at I win las' night? Well, I win' it by a specious providence, ain't it?"
"There's no tellin'," said the humbled Jones. "Providence
'Moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform.'"
"Ah!" cried the Creole, "c'est very true. I ged this money in the mysterieuze way. Mais, if I keep dis money, you know where it goin' be to-night?"
"I really can't say," replied the parson.
"Goin' to de dev'," said the sweetly-smiling yonng man.
The schooner-captain, leaning against the shrouds, and even Baptiste, laughed outright.
"O Jools, you mustn't!"
"Well, den, w'at I shall do wid it?"