nd it comes out
four hundred and fifteen dollars short. Says the king:

"Dern him, I wonder what he done with that four hundred and fifteen
dollars?"

They worried over that awhile, and ransacked all around for it. Then the
duke says:

"Well, he was a pretty sick man, and likely he made a mistake--I reckon
that's the way of it. The best way's to let it go, and keep still about
it. We can spare it."

"Oh, shucks, yes, we can SPARE it. I don't k'yer noth'n 'bout that--it's
the COUNT I'm thinkin' about. We want to be awful square and open and
above-board here, you know. We want to lug this h-yer money up stairs
and count it before everybody--then ther' ain't noth'n suspicious. But
when the dead man says ther's six thous'n dollars, you know, we don't
want to--"

"Hold on," says the duke. "Le's make up the deffisit," and he begun to
haul out yaller-boys out of his pocket.

"It's a most amaz'n' good idea, duke--you HAVE got a rattlin' clever head
on you," says the king. "Blest if the old Nonesuch ain't a heppin' us
out agin," and HE begun to haul out yaller-jackets and stack them up.

It most busted them, but they made up the six thousand clean and clear.

"Say," says the duke, "I got another idea. Le's go up stairs and count
this money, and then take and GIVE IT TO THE GIRLS."

"Good land, duke, lemme hug you! It's the most dazzling idea 'at ever a
man struck. You have cert'nly got the most astonishin' head I ever see.
Oh, this is the boss dodge, ther' ain't no mistake 'bout it. Let 'em
fetch along their suspicions now if they want to--this 'll lay 'em out."

When we got up-stairs everybody gethered around the table, and the king
he counted it and stacked it up, three hundred dollars in a pile--twenty
elegant little piles. Everybody looked hungry at it, and licked their
chops. Then they raked it into the bag again, and I see the king begin
to swell himself up for another speech. He says:

"Friends all, my poor brother that lays yonder has done generous by them
that's left behind in the vale of sorrers. He has done generous by these
yer poor little lambs that he loved and sheltered, and that's left
fatherless and motherless. Yes, and we that knowed him knows that he
would a done MORE generous by 'em if he hadn't ben afeard o' woundin' his
dear William and me. Now, WOULDN'T he? Ther' ain't no question 'bout it
in MY mind. Well, then, what kind o' brothers would it be that 'd stand
in his way