“What! You haven’t deserted me already?”
The older people had gone out, but young Gray looked furtively about before he replied: “You know I ain’t fittin’ to go out with you—aftah—aftah—yestiddy.”
A dozen appropriate texts rose in the preacher’s mind, but he knew that it was not a preaching time, so he contented himself with saying,—
“Oh, get out! Come along!”
“No, I cain’t. I cain’t. I wisht I could! You needn’t think I’s ashamed, ’cause I ain’t. Plenty of ’em git drunk, an’ I don’t keer nothin’ ’bout dat”—this in a defiant tone.
“Well, why not come along, then?”
“I tell you I cain’t. Don’t ax me no mo’. It ain’t on my account I won’t go. It’s you.”
“Me! Why, I want you to go.”
“I know you does, but I mustn’t. Cain’t you see that dey’d be glad to say dat—dat you was in cahoots wif me an’ you tuk yo’ dram on de sly?”