“So it is,” said the old man, interrupting him.
“No,” returned Barker, “it’s under the one next you.”
“I tell you it ain’t,” said Mr. Wilkins, who strongly advocated the doctrine that “seeing is believing.”
He was sure he was right, and now a chance presented itself of regaining his former load of cotton.
“I tell you it ain’t. I’m harder to head than Pete wus, and blamed ef I don’t bet another load o’ cotton, that’s at the dore by this time.”
“You are mistaken,” said Barker, smiling; “but if you wish it, I’ll bet.”
“Let’s understand one nuther fust,” said the farmer. “You say that ere little ball you had jes now, ain’t under the little thimble in the middle—I say it is. Ef it ain’t, I’m to give you the load o’ cotton—ef it is, you’re to give me four hundred and fifty-one dollars no cents.”
“Exactly so,” said Barker.
“Well, I’ll bet,” said the farmer, “and here’s my hand.”
The bet was sealed, and with a triumphant air which he but poorly concealed, the farmer snatched up the middle thimble, but no ball was there.