"You mought as well, for the whippin' won't do you no good; and as
for Bunch, nobody about the plantation won't ride him but me."
"Simon," replied the old man, "I agree to it. Your old daddy is in a
close place about payin' for his land; and this here money--it's jist
eleven dollars, lacking of twenty-five cents--will help out mightily.
But mind, Simon, ef anything's said about this hereafter, remember, you
_give_ me the money."
"Very well, daddy; and ef the thing works up instid o' down, I s'pose
we'll say you give _me_ Bunch, eh?"
"You won't never be troubled to tell how you come by Bunch; the thing's
agin nater, and can't be done. What old Jed'diah Suggs knows, he knows
as good as anybody. Give me them fix-ments, Simon."
Our hero handed the cards to his father, who, dropping the plow-line
with which he had intended to tie Simon's hands, turned his back to that
individual, in order to prevent his witnessing the operation of
_mixing_. He then sat down, and very leisurely commenced shuffling the
cards, making, however, an exceedingly awkward job of it. Restive
_kings_ and _queens_ jumped from his hands, or obstinately refused to
slide into the company of the rest of the pack. Occasionally a sprightly
_knave_ would insist on _facing_ his neighbor; or, pressing his edge
against another's, half double himself up, and then skip away.
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