“Dees is greet!—dees is too goot!—Jud, we peek it oop in de road, heh?”
“I'm kinder afraid we'll wake an' find it a dream, Billy—hurry up. Get the cash.”
Billy was thoughtful: “Tree hun'd'd dollars—Jud—eef—eef—” he shook his head.
“Now, Billy,” said Jud patronizingly—“that's nonsense. Bonaparte will eat him alive in two minutes. Now, he bein' my dorg, jes' you put up the coin an' let me in on the ground floor. I'll pay it back—if we lose—” he laughed. “If we lose—it's sorter like sayin' if the sun don't rise.”
“Dat ees so, Jud, we peek eet oop in de road. But eef we don't peek eet oop, Billy ees pusted!”
“Oh,” said Jud, “it's all like takin' candy from your own child.”
The news had spread and a crowd had gathered to see the champion dog of the Tennessee Valley eat up a monkey. All the loafers and ne'er-do-wells of Cottontown were there. The village had known no such excitement since the big mill had been built.
They came up and looked sorrowfully at the monkey, as they would look in the face of the dead. But, considering that he had so short a time to live, he returned the grin with a reverence which was sacrilegious.
“So han'sum—so han'sum,” said Uncle Billy Caldwell, the squire. “So bright an' han'sum an' to die so young!”
“It's nothin' but murder,” said another.