Hannibal [gloomily].
So! so! I lose pile money on dat Hudson Ribber. My banker telegram fo’ moh margin every fifteen minutes fo’ foh hours. De agony of dem hours I can nebber tell you, Pompey. De telegram-wire, and de tongue of lightnin’, holler, Moh margin! Hudson Ribber g’wone down,—moh margin! I and de ole woman scrape and scrape, and empty de big stockin’ bank dat de old woman hab under de bed fo’ de rainy day; still it holler, Moh margin! And den de old woman raise de washtub ’gainst her lawful husband. I nebber tink dat ribber railroad could sink so fast. Pompey, it am de fashion to condumdole wid your misfortunate neighbor; how much you condumdole wid me, Pompey?
Pompey.
You hear me, chile! I lose moh money on dat Hudson Ribber dan you ebber see.
Hannibal.
Why, honey, how am dat? You hab no Hudson Ribber stock.
Pompey.
I was g’wone down de ribber on de canal-boat, when I losed it. Yah, yah!
Hannibal.
Pompey, you am too friv’lous and vis’nary fo’ de bus’ness man,—fo’ de stock op’rator.