"Why, Mars Tom, I doan' _want_ no sich glory.  Snake take 'n bite Jim's chin off, den _whah_ is de glory?  No, sah, I doan' want no sich doin's."

"Blame it, can't you _try_?  I only _want_ you to try—you needn't keep it up if it don't work."

"But de trouble all _done_ ef de snake bite me while I's a tryin' him. Mars Tom, I's willin' to tackle mos' anything 'at ain't onreasonable, but ef you en Huck fetches a rattlesnake in heah for me to tame, I's gwyne to _leave_, dat's _shore_."

"Well, then, let it go, let it go, if you're so bull-headed about it.  We can get you some garter-snakes, and you can tie some buttons on their tails, and let on they're rattlesnakes, and I reckon that 'll have to do."

"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 tryin' to sleep, I ever see.  No, sah, gimme g'yarter-snakes, 'f I's got to have 'm, but doan' gimme no rats; I hain' 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.  You got anything to play music on?"

"I ain' got nuffn but a coase comb en a piece o' paper, en a juice-harp; but I reck'n dey wouldn' take no stock in a juice-harp."