"Why, Jools," said Parson Jones, "that didn't do no good."
"Din do no good! Id broughd the so great value! You can strike me dead if thad baril sugah din fedge the more high cost than any other in the city. Parce-que, the man what buy that baril sugah he make a mistake of one hundred pound "—falling back—"Mais certainlee!"'
"And you think that was growin' out of the holy-water?" asked the parson.
"Mais, what could make it else? Id could not be the quitte, because my papa keep the bucket, an' forget to sen' the quitte to Father Pierre."
Parson Jones was disappointed.
"Well, now, Jools, you know, I don't think that was right. I reckon you must be a plum Catholic."
M. St.-Ange shrugged. He would not deny his faith.
"I am a Catholique, mais"—brightening as he hoped to recommend himself anew—"not a good one."
"Well, you know," said Jones—"where's Colossus? Oh! all right. Colossus strayed off a minute in Mobile, and I plum lost him for two days. Here's the place; come in. Colossus and this boy can go to the kitchen.—Now, Colossus, what AIR you a-beckonin' at me faw?"
He let his servant draw him aside and address him in a whisper.