Tom waited to think it over, and see if there wasn't nothing else; and
pretty soon he says:

"Oh, there's one thing I forgot. Could you raise a flower here, do you
reckon?"

"I doan know but maybe I could, Mars Tom; but it's tolable dark in heah,
en I ain' got no use f'r no flower, nohow, en she'd be a pow'ful sight o'
trouble."

"Well, you try it, anyway. Some other prisoners has done it."

"One er dem big cat-tail-lookin' mullen-stalks would grow in heah, Mars
Tom, I reck'n, but she wouldn't be wuth half de trouble she'd coss."

"Don't you believe it. We'll fetch you a little one and you plant it in
the corner over there, and raise it. And don't call it mullen, call it
Pitchiola--that's its right name when it's in a prison. And you want to
water it with your tears."

"Why, I got plenty spring water, Mars Tom."

"You don't WANT spring water; you want to water it with your tears. It's
the way they always do."

"Why, Mars Tom, I lay I kin raise one er dem mullen-stalks twyste wid
spring water whiles another man's a START'N one wid tears."

"That ain't the idea. You GOT to do it with tears."

"She'll die on my han's, Mars Tom, she sholy will; kase I doan' skasely
ever cry."

So Tom was stumped. But he studied it over, and then said Jim would have
to worry along the best he could with an onion. He promised he would go
to the nigger cabins and drop one, private, in Jim's coffee-pot, in the
morning. Jim said he would "jis' 's soon have tobacker in his coffee;"
and found so much fault with it, and with the work and bother of raising
the mullen, and jews-harping the rats, and petting and flattering up the
snakes and spiders and things, on top of all the other work he had to do
on pens, and inscriptions, and journals, and things, which made it more
trouble and worry and responsibility to be a prisoner than anything he
ever undertook, that Tom most lost all patience with him; and said he was
just loadened down with more gaudier chances than a prisoner ever had in
the world to make a name for himself, and yet he didn't know enough to
appreciate them, and they was just about wasted on him. So Jim he was
sorry, and said he wouldn't behave so no more, and then me and Tom shoved
for bed.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

IN the morning we went up to the village and bought a wire rat-trap and
fetched it down, and unstopped the best rat-hole, and in about an hour we
had fifteen of the bulliest kind of ones; and then we t