“Nor a white?”
“Surely, Dinny, not a white, abouchal; don't think to come over me that way.”
“But I want to know what color it is, most larned sager.”
“All rasonable, Dinny, Why, thin, black is—let me see—hut, death alive!—it's—a—a—why, it's black, an' that's all I can say about it; yes, faix, I can—black is the color of Father Curtis's coat.”
“An' what color is that, Phadrick?”
“Why, it's black, to be sure.”
“Well, now, what color is white, Phadrick?”
“Why, it's a snow-color: for all the world the color of snow.”
“White is?”
“Ay, is it.”