“Begorra, an’ phwy don’t yez make us some bread we kin ate?” retorted Barney, facetiously. “Shure, the last I got hold of was that hard that I cudn’t break it wid a sledgehammer.”
“Huh! I done fink yo’ am pooty sassy, I’ish. Jes’ s’pose yo’ makes yo’ own bread fo’ awhile.”
“Bejabers, I’ll do it!”
“Yo’ will?”
“Yis, to be shure!”
“How am yo’ gwine to do it?”
“I’ll show yez!”
But Pomp blocked the galley door.
“No, yo’ don’ do anyfing ob de kin’! I done reckon I know wha’ yo’ want in here. Yo’ jest mix my fings all up an’ den Marse Frank gib me a jawing.”
“But yez wanted me to make me own bread. Now, gimme a chance.”!