“She jes’ don’ agree to agree wif me!” declared Pomp, succinctly. “And the only point we’s sartain sure agreed on is not to agree fo’ to lib togedder any more.”
“Oh, yez have a divorce, eh?”
Pomp looked scornful.
“Wha’ fo’ I want a divorce?” he retorted. “Don’ yo’ fink cullud people am mo’ ’spectable dan dat?”
“But, begorra, the law wud make yez support her!”
“Golly, I don’ beliebe it. Dis chile hab got all he kin do to support hisse’f. No, sah! I jist go down to Kyarline an’ I find jes’ de most likely cullud gal I kin find dar. Den I say: Chloe, yo’ jes’ hitch hosses wif dis chile an’ I make yo’ wear diamonds. See! Lor’ sakes, chile! Money catch de best ob dem!”
“Begorra, it’s a bigamist ye’d be!” declared Barney, contemptuously. “If yez do that, naygur, I’ll cut yez acquaintance.”
“Suit yo’sef, sah,” declared Pomp; “but atween yo’ an’ me, I don’ beliebe eider one ob us will leabe Marse Frank right away.”
“Yez are roight there,” cried Barney. “Shure, we’ll sthick to Misther Frank, for all av the foine gold.”
Plans were at once made to transport the treasure to the Dart.