The nigger kind of smiled around gradually over his face, like when you heave a brickbat in a mud-puddle, and he says:
“Yes, Mars Sid, a dog. Cur’us dog, too. Does you want to go en look at ’im?”
“Yes.”
I hunched Tom, and whispers:
“You going, right here in the daybreak? That warn’t the plan.”
“No, it warn’t; but it’s the plan now.”
So, drat him, we went along, but I didn’t like it much. When we got in we couldn’t hardly see anything, it was so dark; but Jim was there, sure enough, and could see us; and he sings out:
“Why, Huck! En good lan’! ain’ dat Misto Tom?”
I just knowed how it would be; I just expected it. I didn’t know nothing to do; and if I had I couldn’t a done it, because that nigger busted in and says:
“Why, de gracious sakes! do he know you genlmen?”