“Oh no,” said the old man, perfectly furious at such barefaced assurance. “Oh no! you don’t know nuthin’ now. Blame your picter, you’re as innersent as a lam’. Don’t know what munny I meen? It’s that four hundred and fifty-one dollars, and no cents, what you cheeted Pete out’n.”
“I recollect now,” said Barker, “that was fairly done, Sir; if you’ll just step this way, I’ll show you how I got it, Sir.”
A bright idea struck the old man.
“I’ve seen Pete play it,” thought he to himself, “and I guessed rite every time.
“Well,” said he, “I’ll go and see how it was dun, ennyhow.”
The two walked along to the same bale of cotton which had witnessed the game before, and the gimlet man took the identical thimbles and ball which had served him before, from his pocket, and sat down, requesting the farmer to be seated also.
“Now, Sir,” said Barker, “when your son was here, I bought his cotton, and paid him for it: just as he was going away, I proposed showing him a trick worth seeing. I took this little ball, and put it under this middle thimble.
“ ‘Now,’ said I to him, ‘you see it, and now you don’t see it; and I’ll bet you you can’t tell where the little joker is.’ ”
“Well,” said the farmer, “all’s rite—the ball’s now under the middle thimble.”
“When I had put it under there,” continued Barker, “your son wanted to bet me that it was under the middle thimble.”