"Greenhorns, flatheads!  I knew the first house would keep mum and let the rest of the town get roped in; and I knew they'd lay for us the third night, and consider it was _their_ turn now.  Well, it _is_ their turn, and I'd give something to know how much they'd take for it.  I _would_ just like to know how they're putting in their opportunity.  They can turn it into a picnic if they want to—they brought plenty provisions."

Them rapscallions took in four hundred and sixty-five dollars in that three nights.  I never see money hauled in by the wagon-load like that before.  By and by, when they was asleep and snoring, Jim says:

"Don't it s'prise you de way dem kings carries on, Huck?"

"No," I says, "it don't."

"Why don't it, Huck?"

"Well, it don't, because it's in the breed.  I reckon they're all alike."

"But, Huck, dese kings o' ourn is reglar rapscallions; dat's jist what dey is; dey's reglar rapscallions."

"Well, that's what I'm a-saying; all kings is mostly rapscallions, as fur as I can make out."

"Is dat so?"