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? ? ? ? "I k'n stan' dem, Mars Tom, but blame' 'f I couldn' get along widout um, I tell you dat. I never knowed b'fo', 't was so much bother and trouble to be a prisoner."

? ? ? ? "Well, it always is, when it's done right. You got any rats around here?"

? ? ? ? "No, sah, I hain't seed none."

? ? ? ? "Well, we'll get you some rats."

? ? ? ? "Why, Mars Tom, I doan' want no rats. Dey's de dadblamedest creturs to sturb a body, en rustle roun' over 'im, en bite his feet, when he's trying to sleep, I ever see. No, sah, gimme g'yarter-snakes, 'f I's got to have 'm, but doan' gimme no rats, I ain' got no use f'r um, skasely."

? ? ? ? "But Jim, you got to have 'em- they all do. So don't make no more fuss about it. Prisoners ain't ever without rats. There ain't no instance of it. And they train them, and pet them, and learn them tricks, and they get to be as sociable as flies. But you got to play music to them.


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