We stopped talking, and got to thinking. By and by Tom says:
“Looky here, Huck, what fools we are to not think of it before! I bet I know where Jim is.”
“No! Where?”
“In that hut down by the ash-hopper. Why, looky here.
When we was at dinner, didn’t you see a nigger man go in there with some vittles?”
“Yes.”
“What did you think the vittles was for?”
“For a dog.”
“So ’d I. Well, it wasn’t for a dog.”
“Why?”