“I really can’t say,” replied the parson.
“Goin’ to de dev’,” said the sweetly-smiling young man.
The schooner-captain, leaning against the shrouds, and even Baptiste, laughed outright.
“O Jools, you mustn’t!”
“Well, den, w’at I shall do wid it?”
“Any thing!” answered the parson; “better donate it away to some poor man——”
“Ah! Misty Posson Jone’, dat is w’at I want. You los’ five hondred dollar’—’twas me fault.”
“No, it wa’n’t, Jools.”
“Mais, it was!”