“Mars Tom, can’t we tote it back home en sell it? How long’ll it take?”
“Depends on the way we go.”
“Well, sah, she’s wuth a quarter of a dollar a load at home, en I reckon we’s got as much as twenty loads, hain’t we? How much would dat be?”
“Five dollars.”
“By jings, Mars Tom, le’s shove for home right on de spot! Hit’s more’n a dollar en a half apiece, hain’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, ef dat ain’t makin’ money de easiest ever I struck! She jes’ rained in—never cos’ us a lick o’ work. Le’s mosey right along, Mars Tom.”
But Tom was thinking and ciphering away so busy and excited he never heard him. Pretty soon he says:
“Five dollars—sho! Look here, this sand’s worth—worth—why, it’s worth no end of money.”
“How is dat, Mars Tom? Go on, honey, go on!”