“Dat wuz a great joke,” sadly said Pomp, returning. “I done gib yo’ credit fo’ dat, yo’ ole flannel-mouf terrier! Shake han’s on it. Dat’s one on me, honey, sho’s yo’ born!”
He extended his big paw, and Barney roared laughing.
“Be heavens!” said he, “it’s the divil we O’Sheas bes at playin’ good wans on ther naygurs. I’m glad yez take it loike a man. Here’s me fisht, and may ther next wan bate this joke.”
He slapped his hand into the coon’s.
“Hurroar!” he yelled. “I’se got yer! Take dat, yo’ babboon! An’ dat, yo’ ole snoozer! An’ dat, yo’ blamed son ob a gorilla!”
And biff—bang—boom! went his foot.
Every time he let fly Barney was raised from the floor.
As soon as he recovered from his astonishment, he struggled to get away, but Pomp had a grip like a vise upon him and would not let go until he booted the Celt all around the room.
“Be heavens! I thought yez was frindly,” raved Barney.
“Yo’ did, huh? So I is, chile. I lub yo’ like a brudder. Golly! how much mo’ yo’ spec ob a feller?”