"Well, Jem," said Archer, "unbutton your bag now; what's the news?"
"Well, Mr. Aircher, it ben't no use to tell you on't, with Tom, there,
puttin' a body out, and swearin' it's a lie, and dammin' a chap up and
down. It ben't no use to tell you, and yet I'd kind o' like to, but then
you won't believe a fellow, not one on you!"
"In course not," answered Forester; and at the same instant Tom struck
in likewise--
"It's a lie, afore you tell it; it's a lie, cuss you, and you knows it.
I'd sooner take a nigger's word than yours, Jem, any how, for the darned
niggers will tell the truth when they can't git no good by lyin', but
you, you will lie all times! When the truth would do the best, and you
would tell it if you could, you can't help lyin'!"
"Shut up, you old thief; shut up instantly, and let the man speak, will
you; I can see by his face that he has got something to tell; and as for
lying, you beat him at it any day."
Tom was about to answer, when Harry, who had been eagerly engaged in
mixing a huge tumbler-full of strong cold shrub punch, thrust it under
his nose, and he, unable to resist the soft seductive odor, seized it
incontinently, and neither spoke nor breathed again until the bottom of
the rummer was brought parallel to the ceiling; then, with a deep
heart-felt sigh, he set it down; and, with a calm placid smile,
exclaimed, "Tell on, Jem.
Pages:
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245