"Thar's his fangs," he said, "sticking into the leather. I jerked 'em out. Now the varmint couldn't hurt a baby—that is, till his fangs grow again, which won't be for a good while."
When the snake was delivered that afternoon to Mr. Harriman, it was an object of great attention to that gentleman and many of the villagers. It was found to be forty-nine inches long, and had seven rattles.
"Why, it's a two-dollar snake!" said Tom.
"Yes," said Mr. Harriman, "it is a very fine specimen, and I gladly pay you the two dollars. To which of you must I give the money?"
"This is Tom's snake," said Charlie, quickly. "The one I got, I smashed to flinders."
And in spite of Tom's arguments, he refused to accept a cent of the reward.
"It was a plucky thing in you," said Tom to his friend as they walked away, "to drop that big stone so close to my face."
"There was nothing plucky about it," said Charlie, laughing. "It wouldn't have hurt me if it had hit you."
"I don't believe a word of that," said Tom. "I believe it would have hurt you just as much as me."
Which was exactly the truth.