“Lave go av me!”
“Not till I’se got froo.”
“I’ll be afther butcherin’ yez!”
“G’wan! Yo done dat already!”
And with a parting hoister Pomp let him go.
Barney put on a sickly but winning smile and extended his hand.
“Shake hands. It’s quits we are intoirely,” he observed, sweetly.
“Git out ob heah, yo’ white trash!” bellowed Pomp, picking up an ax. “Wanter play de same game on me, hey? Guess not, honey. Dey ain’t no flies on dis coon, an’ don’ yo’ forgit it!”
“See here, me buck——”
“Clar out, or I’se gwine ter scalp yo’ wif dis!”