If Barney could play a practical joke upon his colored colleague he was happy, and Pomp seldom failed to retaliate in kind.
Really they were the life of any exploring expedition, and for faithful service and devotion Frank could hardly have replaced them.
They were anticipating the submarine voyage with a great deal of relish.
“Golly,” cried Pomp; “I’se jes’ gwine to be tickled to deff to git to trabeling once mo’. I’se been home jes’ long enough, dis chile hab.”
“Begorra, I’m wid yez, naygur!” cried Barney, bluntly. “It ain’t often we two uns agree, but be me sowl it’s united we sthand on that, sor.”
“It am yo’ fault, I’ish, dat we don’ agree on everyfing!” declared Pomp, solemnly.
“How do yez make that out?”
“Yo’ don’ take mah wo’d fo’ a cent.”
“Begorra, I’d hate to take yoursilf for that!” cried Barney, jocularly. “Shure I’d kape the cint.”
Pomp scratched his woolly head.