in the snow. What I wanted to know was,
what he was going to do, and was he going to stay? Jim got out his
hair-ball and said something over it, and then he held it up and
dropped it on the floor. It fell pretty solid, and only rolled about
an inch. Jim tried it again, and then another time, and it acted just
the same. Jim got down on his knees, and put his ear against it and
listened. But it warn't no use; he said it wouldn't talk. He said
sometimes it wouldn't talk without money. I told him I had an old
slick counterfeit quarter that warn't no good because the brass showed
through the silver a little, and it wouldn't pass nohow, even if the
brass didn't show, because it was so slick it felt greasy, and so that
would tell on it every time. (I reckoned I wouldn't say nothing about
the dollar I got from the judge.) I said it was pretty bad money, but
maybe the hair-ball would take it, because maybe it wouldn't know the
difference. Jim smelt it and bit it and rubbed it, and said he would
manage so the hair-ball would think it was good. He said he would
split open a raw Irish potato and stick the quarter in between and
keep it there all night, and next morning you couldn't see no brass,
and it wouldn't feel greasy no more, and so anybody in town would take
it in a minute, let alone a hair-ball. Well, I knowed a potato would
do that before, but I had forgot it.

Jim put the quarter under the hair-ball, and got down and listened
again. This time he said the hair-ball was all right. He said it would
tell my whole fortune if I wanted it to. I says, go on. So the
hair-ball talked to Jim, and Jim told it to me. He says:

"Yo' ole father doan' know yit what he's a-gwyne to do. Sometimes he
spec he'll go 'way, en den ag'in he spec he'll stay. De bes' way is to
res' easy en let de ole man take his own way. Dey's two angels
hoverin' roun' 'bout him. One uv 'em is white en shiny, en t'other one
is black. De white one gits him to go right a little while, den de
black one sail in en bust it all up. A body can't tell yit which one
gwyne to fetch him at de las'. But you is all right. You gwyne to have
considable trouble in yo' life, en considable joy. Sometimes you gwyne
to git hurt, en sometimes you gwyne to git sick; but every time you's
gwyne to git well ag'in. Dey's two gals flyin' 'bout you in yo' life.
One uv 'em's light en t'other one is dark. One is rich en t'other is
po'. You's gwyne to marry de po' one fust en de rich one by