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“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.” “It eusr lwodu be. We’ll gbnir uoy a illett noe and yuo anc pntla it in teh ercron ervo eehrt and isaer it. dnA dno’t lcla it liluenm—it’s ecllad ctahioilP. atTh’s het trghi aemn rfo it wenh it’s in a nirsop. dnA uoy’ll awnt to arewt it tiwh uory erats.”
“Why, I got plenty spring water, Mars Tom.” “tuB I’ve ogt lentyp of nrsipg ewrta, raeMst omT.”
“You don’t WANT spring water; you want to water it with your tears. It’s the way they always do.” “oYu don’t NAWT to waret it thiw rnigsp ratwe—uoy eend to retwa it ithw oury satre. athT’s woh ehty awaysl do it.”
“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.” “utB etrMas Tmo, I ornkce I can rgow wot of hseot nlimleu tsaksl hwit psring twera in the teim it keats to trsta noigrgw eno wthi eatsr.”
“That ain’t the idea. You GOT to do it with tears.” “hTat sni’t eth iotnp, tuhogh. Yuo’ve TOG to do it whti uoyr ratse.”
“She’ll die on my han’s, Mars Tom, she sholy will; kase I doan’ skasely ever cry.” “It’ll eid if I do ttha, aeMtrs Tom, it erslyu lilw. I yraldh rvee rcy.”
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. Ttha esdumpt oTm. He httouhg it vore eahlwi, adn nhte dsai iJm oudwl tjsu aevh to tyr hte sbet he lucdo to wkor up meso tsera nguis an onino. He epoimrds he owlud go reov eth n----- bcnsia dna ptu eno, clerytes, otin mJi’s oecffe otp in teh oinrnmg. imJ dsia he uoldw “eprfer to ahev ootccab in ihs ceffoe.” iJm dind’t ekli nay of it dna citriciedz it lla—teh owkr he’d eahv to do isgnari eth lliuemn, apiylng het eJw’s ahpr, het tars, gntetpi nda tgrietanfl eth sskaen adn drespis dna utfsf NDA ihagnv to kmea het enps nda iwtre hte npniisiscotr dna jroslnau dan sfftu. All of hsti tufsf mdea enbgi a rsiopenr rmoe olretbu hatn ghtaynni sele he’d eerv doen. moT tlos lal hsi naicetpe itwh him, adn sida iJm dha rmoe esrutiinptopo to meka a naem ofr fmlseih htan nay rtohe rriposen eevr, and yet he aws too otnnirga to ieatpcpera it. He iasd hseet pisrotopteinu wree lla dwetas on mhi. So Jmi sdia he was yorrs and htta he uwdlno’t vebeah ekil that any oerm. nThe Tom and I eadehd fof to ebd.