"Why, how you talk! How could their charms work till midnight?—and THEN it's Sunday. Devils don't slosh around much of a Sunday, I don't reckon." "I never thought of that. That's so. Lemme go with you?" "Of course—if you ain't afeard." "Afeard! 'Tain't likely. Will you meow?" "Yes—and you meow back, if you get a chance. Last time, you kep' me a-meowing around till old Hays went to throwing rocks at me and says 'Dern that cat!' and so I hove a brick through his window—but don't you tell." "I won't. I couldn't meow that night, becuz auntie was watching me, but I'll meow this time. Say—what's that?" "Nothing but a tick." "Where'd you get him?" "Out in the woods." "What'll you take for him?" "I don't know. I don't want to sell him." "All right. It's a mighty small tick, anyway." "Oh, anybody can run a tick down that don't belong to them. I'm satisfied with it. It's a good enough tick for me." "Sho, there's ticks a plenty. I could have a thousand of 'em if I wanted to." "Well, why don't you? Becuz you know mighty well you can't. This is a pretty early tick, I reckon. It's the first one I've seen this year." "Say, Huck—I'll give you my tooth for him." "Less see it." Tom got out a bit of paper and carefully unrolled it. Huckleberry viewed it wistfully. The temptation was very strong. At last he said: "Is it genuwyne?" Tom lifted his lip and showed the vacancy.