"An' phwat is ut?" Old Harry's interest was real. He laid his pipe down on the table and leaned towards Billy.
"It's the left hind foot of a grave-yard rabbit," said Billy, proudly exhibiting the charm.
O'Dule's shaggy brows met in a frown. "Ut's no good a'tall, a'tall," he said, contemptuously. "Ut's not aven a snake-bite that trinket wud save ye from, let alone a ghost."
Billy felt his back-bone stiffen in resentment. Then he noted that the milk snake, which he had thought snugly asleep in his coat pocket, had awakened in the warmth of the little cabin and slipped from the pocket and now lay, soiled and happy, beneath the rusty stove. He saw his opportunity to get back at O'Dule for his scoffing.
"All right, Harry," he said airily, "if that's all you know about charms, I guess you haven't any that 'ud help us much. But let me tell you that rabbit-foot charm kin do wonders. It'll not only keep you from bein' bit by snakes but by sayin' certain words to it you kin bring a snake right in to your feet with it, an' you kin pick it up an' handle it without bein' bit, too."
"Och, it's a brave lad ye are, Billy bye," Harry wheezed, "an' a brave liar, too. Go on wid yer nonsense, now."
"It's a fact, Harry," backed Maurice.
"Fact," cried O'Dule, angrily now. "Don't ye be comin' to me, a siventh son av a siventh son, wid such nonsinse. Faith, if yon worthless rabbit-fut kin do phwat ye claim, why not prove ut t' me now?"
"An' if we do," asked Billy eagerly, "will you agree to use your power to help us find the money an' will?"
"That I'll do," assented Harry, unhesitatingly. "Call up yer snake an' handle ut widout bein' bit, an' I'll help ye."