“Was he loaded with millet-seed on one side and honey on the other?”
“Yes, but you needn’t go into no more details—that’s the one, and I’m in a hurry. Where did you see him?”
“I hain’t seen him at all,” the man says.
“Hain’t seen him at all? How can you describe him so close, then?”
“Because when a person knows how to use his eyes, everything has got a meaning to it; but most people’s eyes ain’t any good to them. I knowed a camel had been along, because I seen his track. I knowed he was lame in his off hind leg because he had favored that foot and trod light on it, and his track showed it. I knowed he was blind on his left side because he only nibbled the grass on the right side of the trail. I knowed he had lost an upper front tooth because where he bit into the sod his teeth-print showed it. The millet-seed sifted out on one side—the ants told me that; the honey leaked out on the other—the flies told me that. I know all about your camel, but I hain’t seen him.”
Jim says:
“Go on, Mars Tom, hit’s a mighty good tale, and powerful interestin’.”
“That’s all,” Tom says.
“All?” says Jim, astonished. “What ’come o’ de camel?”
“I don’t know.”