"My! my! my! My money, my money!" continued Tom, throwing himself on a pile of straw and weeping like a child.
When Simpson had satisfied his appetite, he narrated his day's experience.
"Ha! ha! ha!" ejaculated Tom, when he heard that the whisky was safely delivered.
"My! my! my!" he groaned, upon being told that the team was lost.
"What horses did you take?" he anxiously inquired.
"Those you told me to take—Blind and Ruble."
"Nobody knows them; nobody knows them! And what wagon?"
"The one from under the shed."
"Nobody will think it belongs to me!" Tom pronounced these words with evident satisfaction. "But," he continued, after a short interval, "they cost money! Wagons cost money! Horses cost money! Blind horses cost money! Working day and night——"
"Stop your whimperin', Tom," interrupted Jerry. "It's gone—let it go. We won't be caught in no more traps—won't give the dogs no more fresh trails, and I reckon it'll be all correct in the end."