Cullen agreed.
"Right the very night the poor soul died, he was hollerin' how
the big black snake and the little black man wit' the gassly
white forehead a-pokin' it wit' a broomstick had come fer um.
'Fright 'em away, Flora!' he was croakin', in a v'ice that hoarse
an' husky 'twas hard to make out what he says. 'Fright 'em away,
Flora!' he says. ''Tis the big, black, ugly-faced snake, as black
as a black stockin' an' thicker round than me leg at the thigh
before I was wasted away!' he says, poor man. 'It's makin' the
fizzin' n'ise awful to-night,' he says. 'An' the little black man
wit' the gassly white forehead is a-laughin',' he says. 'He's
a-laughin' an' a-pokin' the big, black, fizzin', ugly-faced snake
wit' his broomstick--"
Della was unable to endure the description.
"Don't tell me no more, Mrs. Cullen!" she protested. "Poor Tom! I
thought Flora was wrong last week whin she hid the whisky. 'Twas
takin' it away from him that killed him--an' him already so
sick!"
"Well," said Mrs. Cullen, "he hardly had the strengt' to drink
much, she tells me, after he see the big snake an' the little
black divil the first time.
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