"Hi, Marse Richard," answered Dad Davy, in a surprised voice. "I got de bes' kin' o' soap fur shavin'. Dis heah is de bes' sort o' sof' soap, made outen beef taller an' ash lye—none o' your consecrated lye, but de drippin's f'um er reg'lar lye gum, full o' hick'ry ashes—an' I brung er go'd full."
Dad Davy produced a large gourd full of a molasses-like substance, which he poked under Mr. Romaine's high-bred nose.
"Good heavens!" yelled Mr. Romaine, jumping up and seizing a towel with much violence.
"Now, Marse Richard, what you gwine on dat way fur? Sof' soap is de bes' fur shavin'. Did n't I gin you er easy shave?"
"Yes, you did—but this villainous stuff—where's your shaving-brush?"
Dad Davy triumphantly produced a shaving-brush made mop-fashion by tying a mass of cotton threads to a short wooden handle.
"My ole 'oman made dis heah," said Dad Davy, exhibiting this instrument with great pride. "She make 'em fur ole Marse—and dis heah is er bran new one—co'se I war n' goin' use no u'rr but a new one fur you, Marse Richard—"
