"Don't ask me, Jools, I can't help you.

It's no use; it's a matter of conscience with me, Jools." "_Mais oui!_ 'tis a matt' of conscien' wid me, the same." "But, Jools, the money's none o' mine, nohow; it belongs to Smyrny, you know." "If I could make jus' _one_ bet," said the persuasive St.-Ange, "I would leave this place, fas'-fas', yes.

If I had thing--_mais_ I did not soupspicion this from you, Posson Jone'"-- "Don't, Jools, don't!" "No! Posson Jone'." "You're bound to win ?" said the parson, wavering.
"_Mais certainement!_ But it is not to win that I want;'tis me conscien'-- me honor!" "Well, Jools, I hope I'm not a-doin' no wrong.

I'll loan you some of this money if you say you'll come right out 'thout takin' your winnin's." All was still.

The peeping children could see the parson as he lifted his hand to his breast-pocket.