“Tend to yer soul!” repeated Tom, contemptuously; “take a bright lookout to find a soul in you,—save yourself any care on that score. If the devil sifts you through a hair sieve, he won’t find one.”
“Talents is different, you know. Now, Tom’s roarer when there’s any thumping or fighting to be done; but at lying he an’t good, Tom an’t,—ye see it don’ t come natural to him; but, Lord, if thar’ s a feller in the country that can swear to anything and everything, and put in all the circumstances and flourishes with a long face, and carry ‘t through better n I can, why, I’d like to see him, that’s all!”