object of his maledictions roared with merriment and rammed the floor
with his foot.

"Why, it will make his old place worth ten dollars to one," said the
official to the interpreter.

"'Tis not for de worse of de property," said the interpreter.

"I should guess not," said the other, whittling his chair,--"seems to me
as if some of these old Creoles would liever live in a crawfish hole
than to have a neighbor"

"You know what make old Jean Poquelin make like that? I will tell you.
You know"--

The interpreter was rolling a cigarette, and paused to light his tinder;
then, as the smoke poured in a thick double stream from his nostrils, he
said, in a solemn whisper:

"He is a witch."

"Ho, ho, ho!" laughed the other.

"You don't believe it? What you want to bet?" cried the interpreter,
jerking himself half up and thrusting out one arm while he bared it of
its coat-sleeve with the hand of the other. "What you want to bet?"

"How do you know?" asked the official.

"Dass what I goin' to tell you. You know, one evening I was shooting