"That are a fack, stranger; the man that gin you that blow has a moughty
hard fist; and I advoise you to keep clear of him, or he will beat you
into mince-meat."
"I will try to do so."
"You will larn to, if he mought have one more chance at that head of
yours."
"Who is he?"
"He's an oncommon fine fellow, and made your cake dough once before."
"Ah, was it Miss Dumont's--that is, the quadroon's servant."
"Quadroon, man!--that's all humbug. But he's the boy, and is bound to
fotch his missus out straight, in the end."
"Well, if she is his mistress, I hope he may. I wish her no harm,
however much appearances belie me."
"Is that a fack, stranger?"
"Certainly; she never did me any harm."
"Then what mought be the reason you were so onmerciful to her?"
"I never used her hardly. My friend said she was his slave, and all I
wished was to have him obtain his own. In short, I was paid for my
services."
"No doubt of it, stranger. But I can't see how the tenth part of a man
could hunt down such a gal as that,--it's onnateral.
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