I am nearly expire for me coffee."
Parson Jones took his hat from beneath his chair and rose up.
"Jools," said the weak giant, "I ought to be in church right now."
"_Mais_, the church is right yonder at Miguel', yes. Ah!" continued
St.-Ange, as they descended the stairs, "I thing every man muz have the
rilligion he like' the bez--me, I like the _Catholique_ rilligion the
bez--for me it _is_ the bez. Every man will sure go to heaven if he like
his rilligion the bez."
"Jools," said the West-Floridian, laying his great hand tenderly upon
the Creole's shoulder, as they stepped out upon the _banquette_, "do you
think you have any shore hopes of heaven?"
"Yass!" replied St.-Ange; "I am sure-sure. I thing everybody will go to
heaven. I thing you will go, _et_ I thing Miguel will go, _et_
Joe--everybody, I thing--_mais_, hof course, not if they not have been
christen'. Even I thing some niggers will go."
"Jools," said the parson, stopping in his walk--"Jools, I _don't_ want
to lose my niggah."
"Yon will not loose him.
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