“Wait for w’at?”
“What you would take for the whole block?”
“I don’t want to sell him.”
“I’ll give you ten thousand dollah’ for it.”
“Ten t’ousand dollah’ for dis house? Oh, no, that is no price. He is blame’ good old house, that old house.” Old Charlie and the colonel never swore in presence of each other. “Forty years that old house didn’t had to be paint’! I easy can get fifty t’ousand dollah’ for that old house.”
“Fifty thousand picayunes, yes,” said the colonel.
“She’s a good house. Can make plenty money,” pursued the deaf man.
“That’s what make’ you so rich, eh, Charlie?”
“Non, I don’t make nothing. Too blame’ clever, me, dat’s de troub’. She’s a good house; make money fast like a steamboat; make a barrelful in a week. Me, I lose money all the days. Too blame’ clever.”
“Charlie.”