jews-harp's
plenty good enough for a rat. All animals like music--in a prison they
dote on it. Specially, painful music; and you can't get no other kind
out of a jews-harp. It always interests them; they come out to see
what's the matter with you. Yes, you're all right; you're fixed very
well. You want to set on your bed nights before you go to sleep, and
early in the mornings, and play your jews-harp; play 'The Last Link is
Broken'--that's the thing that 'll scoop a rat quicker 'n anything else;
and when you've played about two minutes you'll see all the rats, and the
snakes, and spiders, and things begin to feel worried about you, and
come. And they'll just fairly swarm over you, and have a noble good
time."

"Yes, DEY will, I reck'n, Mars Tom, but what kine er time is JIM havin'?
Blest if I kin see de pint. But I'll do it ef I got to. I reck'n I
better keep de animals satisfied, en not have no trouble in de house."

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 mu