“W’at?”
“Jools, it ain’t the drinkin’ of coffee, but the buyin’ of it on a Sabbath. You must really excuse me, Jools, it’s again’ conscience, you know.”
“Ah!” said St.-Ange, “c’est very true. For you it would be a sin, mais for me it is only ’a’bit. Rilligion is a very strange; I know a man one time, he thing it was wrong to go to cock-fight Sunday evening. I thing it is all ’a’bit. Mais, come, Posson Jone’; I have got one friend, Miguel; led us go at his house and ged some coffee. Come; Miguel have no familie; only him and Joe—always like to see friend; allons, led us come yonder.”
“Why, Jools, my dear friend, you know,” said the shame-faced parson, “I never visit on Sundays.”
“Never w’at?” asked the astounded Creole.
“No,” said Jones, smiling awkwardly.
“Never visite?”
“Exceptin’ sometimes amongst church-members,” said Parson Jones.
“Mais,” said the seductive St.-Ange, “Miguel and Joe is church-member’—certainlee! They love to talk about rilligion. Come at Miguel and talk about some rilligion. I am nearly expire for me coffee.”