Look, Huck, it's a-scratching its head -- don't you see?"
"Well, what of it?"
"Why, this. What's the sense of it scratching its
head? There ain't anything there to itch; its head is
made out of fog or something like that, and can't itch.
A fog can't itch; any fool knows that."
"Well, then, if it don't itch and can't itch, what in
the nation is it scratching it for? Ain't it just habit,
don't you reckon?"
"No, sir, I don't. I ain't a bit satisfied about the
way this one acts. I've a blame good notion it's a
bogus one -- I have, as sure as I'm a-sitting here.
Because, if it -- Huck!"
"Well, what's the matter now?"
"YOU CAN'T SEE THE BUSHES THROUGH IT!"
"Why, Tom, it's so, sure! It's as solid as a cow.
I sort of begin to think --"
"Huck, it's biting off a chaw of tobacker! By
George, THEY don't chaw -- they hain't got anything to
chaw WITH. Huck!"
"I'm a-listening."
"It ain't a ghost at all. It's Jake Dunlap his own
self!"
"Oh your granny!" I says.
"Huck Finn, did we find any corpse in the syca-
mores?"
"No."
"Or any sign of one?"
"No."
"Mighty good reason. Hadn't ever been any corpse
there."
"Why, Tom, you know we heard --"
"Yes, we did?-- heard a howl or two. Does that
prove anybody was killed? Course it don't. And we
seen four men run, then this one come walking out and
we took it for a ghost. No more ghost than you are.
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