“Golly! yo’ might borrow dis air-ship from Marse Frank an’ set yo’ island free if yo’ wanted to,” declared Pomp; “shuah, yo’ cud blow up de hull lot ob dem Britishers.”
Barney’s eyes blazed.
“Bejabers, it’s no more thin they desarve, bad cess to thim,” he declared. “Shure, they’ve had their feet on sufferin’ Oireland’s neck long enuff.”
And so Barney continued to dilate upon the wrongs, real and fancied, of his native isle. He kept on until Pomp began to guy him.
Then he got angry.
“Huh!” cried the darky, “if yo’ people was set free dey nebber cud govern demselves! Shuah dey wud be eatin’ each other up fo’ a fac’!”
“Phwat’s that yez say?” blustered Barney, angrily; “don’t yez cast no aspersions on the ould sod, yez black pickaninny! Shure yez own people wud niver have got free av it hadn’t been fer Gineral Lincoln!”
“Dat shows all yo’ know ’bout fings,” sniffed Pomp; “dar warn’t no sich man as Gineral Linkum.”
“Hey! phwat’s that, naygur? Don’t yez give me de lie!”
“Huh! Linkum warn’t no gineral, sah! He was de President, I’d hab yo’ know, sah!”