“I want to make a pair o’ trousers out of it,” said Tom.
“It ain’t mine to give,” said Dave, with sudden honesty; “it belongs to the old man.”
“Couldn’t you say you dropped it outer the cart?” asked Tom. “A nice sorter mate you are.”
“I’ll give it to yer,” said Dave, “if you tell me where the boat is.”
“Gimme the bag first.”
“All right, here you are.”
Tom took the bag, and, after spreading it out on the buffalo grass by the roadside, regarded it with a quizzical air from one unclosed eye.
“It won’t fit like a tailor-made suit,” he said, “but it’ll do.”
“Are you going to wear that sugar bag?” asked Dave, with something like admiration on his face. “How are you goin’ to wear it?”
“You’ll see,” answered Tom. “Lend me yer knife.”