Too blame clever, me, dat's de troub'.
She's a good house,--make money fast like a steamboat,--make a barrel full in a week! Me, I lose money all de days.

Too blame clever." "Charlie!" "Eh ?" "Tell me what you'll take." "Make?
I don't make _nothing_.

Too blame clever." "What will you _take ?_" "Oh! I got enough already,--half drunk now." "What will you take for the 'ouse ?" "You want to buy her ?" "I don't know,"-- (shrug),--"may_be_,--if you sell it cheap." "She's a bully old house." There was a long silence.

By and by old Charlies commenced-- "Old Injin Charlie is a low-down dog." "_C'est vrai, oui!_" retorted the Colonel in an undertone.
"He's got Injin blood in him." "But he's got some blame good blood, too, ain't it ?" The Colonel nodded impatiently.
"_Bien!_ Old Charlie's Injin blood says, 'sell de house, Charlie, you blame old fool!' _Mais_, old Charlie's good blood says, 'Charlie! if you sell dat old house, Charlie, you low-down old dog, Charlie, what de Compte De Charleu make for you grace-gran'muzzer, de dev' can eat you, Charlie, I don't care.'" "No!" And the _no_ rumbled off in muttered oaths like thunder out on the Gulf.

The incensed old Colonel wheeled and started off.
"Curl!" (Colonel) said Charlie, standing up unsteadily.
The planter turned with an inquiring frown.
"I'll trade with you!" said Charlie.
The Colonel was tempted.