“Oh, not at all,” said Turkey, “when I know it is simulated, and not real, it is another thing.”
“I cannot, indeed,” said Mr. Slick. “It would shock your philanthropic soul, and set your very teeth of humanity on edge. But have you ever seen—the Black Stole?”
“No.”
“Never seen the Black Stole?”
“No, never.”
“Why, it ain’t possible? Did you never hear of it nother?”
“No, never. Well now, do tell!”
“So you never heerd tell of it, nor never sot eyes on it?”
“Certainly never.”
“Well, that bangs the bush, now! I suppose you didn’t. Guess you never did, and never will, nor no other traveller, nother, that ever slept in shoe-leather. They keep dark about these atrocities. Well, the Black Stole is a loose kind of shirt-coat, like an English carter’s frock; only, it is of a different colour. It is black instead of white, and made of nigger hide, beautifully tanned, and dressed as soft as a glove. It ain’t every nigger’s hide that’s fit for a stole. If they are too young, it is too much like kid; if they are too old, it’s like sole leather, it’s so tough; and if they have been whipt, as all on ‘em have a’most, why the back is all cut to pieces, and the hide ruined. It takes several sound nigger skins to make a stole; but when made, it’s a beautiful article, that’s a fact.