“I put ’em out to freeze las’ night, an’ de dogs got ’em.”
A groan went up from the disappointed souls of Mt. Pisgah. But the minister went on: “Whah’d you hang dem?”
“Up ag’in de side o’ de house.”
“How’d de dogs git ’em dah?”
“Mebbe it mout ’a’ been cats.”
“Why didn’t dey git dat un?”
“Why, why—’ca’se—’ca’se—Oh, don’t questun me, man. I want you to know dat I’s a honer’ble man.”
“Jabez Holly,” said the minister, impressively, “don’t lie hyeah in de sanctua’y. I see ’possum grease on yo’ mouf.”
Jabez unconsciously gave his lips a wipe with his sleeve. “On my mouf, on my mouf!” he exclaimed. “Don’t you say you see no ’possum grease on my mouf! I mek you prove it. I’s a honer’ble man, I is. Don’t you ’cuse me of nuffin’!”
Murmurs had begun to arise from the crowd, and they had begun to press in upon the accused.