"Humph! an _Americain_--a West-Floridian; bah!" "But wait; 'st! he is speaking; listen!" "To who is he speak---- ?" "Sh-sh-sh! to Jules." "Jules who ?" "Silence, you! To Jules St.-Ange, what howe me a bill since long time.
Sh-sh-sh!" Then the voice was heard.
Its owner was a man of giant stature, with a slight stoop in his shoulders, as if he was making a constant, good-natured attempt to accommodate himself to ordinary doors and ceilings.

His bones were those of an ox.

His face was marked more by weather than age, and his narrow brow was bald and smooth.

He had instantaneously formed an opinion of Jules St.-Ange, and the multitude of words, most of them lingual curiosities, with which he was rasping the wide-open ears of his listeners, signified, in short, that, as sure as his name was Parson Jones, the little Creole was a "plum gentleman." M.St.-Ange bowed and smiled, and was about to call attention, by both gesture and speech, to a singular object on top of the still uncovered head, when the nervous motion of the _Americain_ anticipated him, as, throwing up an immense hand, he drew down a large roll of bank-notes.
The crowd laughed, the West-Floridian joining, and began to disperse.
"Why, that money belongs to Smyrny Church," said the giant.
"You are very dengerous to make your money expose like that, Misty Posson Jone'," said St.-Ange, counting it with his eyes.
The countryman gave a start and smile of surprise.
"How d'dyou know my name was Jones ?" he asked; but, without pausing for the Creole's answer, furnished in his reckless way some further specimens of West-Floridian English; and the conciseness with which he presented full intelligence of his home, family, calling, lodging-house, and present and future plans, might have passed for consummate art, had it not been the most run-wild nature.

"And I've done been to Mobile, you know, on busi_ness_ for Bethesdy Church.