“It is,” replied Frank, with a smile. “Indeed, I could ill afford to spare two such faithful fellows.”
As it happened the parties mentioned stood by and within hearing.
One was a powerful black, short and sturdy, with a genial countenance.
The other was a genuine full-bred Celt, with broad mug and shrewd twinkling blue eyes, and hair as red as the glow of an autumn sunset.
“Begorra, I knew well Misther Frank wud niver lave me at home!” cried Barney, with a comical grimace; “there’s the naygur, shure it moight be him!”
“Don’ yo’ flattah yo’sef, yo’ big I’ish chump,” returned Pomp, politely. “I jes’ reckon Marse Frank pay mo’ ‘tention to me dan he eber do fo’ yo’.”
“Hurroo! Wud ye hear ther Afrikan talk!” cried Barney, derisively. “Shure, ye’d think Misther Frank cudn’t invint widout him!”
“I jes’ reckon dat de man wha’ invented yo’ neber did no mo’ wo’k,” retorted Pomp.
“To be shure av that, naygur,” replied Barney, “‘twas so good an’ foine a job he niver cud betther it.”
Everybody laughed at this.