“Well,” says the old man, “I don’t think that Telescope done it, but under the circumstances I reckon he’ll have to go to jail.”
“At least yuh can have breakfast in bed,” consoles Muley, and then he recites:
“A man in jail don’t have no cares;
The flight of time don’t bother him,
There ain’t no place for him to go,
The passing hours lightly skim.
The judge may say, ‘A year or two,
In places where they don’t need clocks,’
But you should care—when you get loose,
You’ve seven thousand in that box.”